The Wedding's End
by HARPG0
Summary: It is Yuuri's wedding day. But things don't go as expected.
1. Chapter 1

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The Wedding's End

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It was a lovely winter evening. Shinou's Temple was aglow with the warmth of one hundred flickering candles, as was the custom for royal weddings at night. Cream, peach, black, and dark blue ribbons decorated the altar with flowing tapestries depicting Shinou's great military achievements—including the construction of Blood Pledge Castle and the temple where guests were now seated. A carpet of black crushed velvet covered the isle leading to the altar where Ulrike stood on a dais with Murata, The Great Sage, by her side.

Yuuri stood rooted to the spot, dressed in formal wear that was brought in especially for the grand occasion. He wore clothes that seemed strange to the Mazoku guests who had been expecting something more in the lines of "traditional" for their king. However, Yuuri's mother thought differently and brought the suit of clothes in a sealed plastic bag from Earth. Yuuri glanced at her on the front row along with his brother (scowling openly) and his father for support. Yuuri was wearing a peak lapel black wool tuxedo with center-vented tailcoat. Instead of the usual black bow tie, his mother chose a dark blue one that matched Wolfram's usual blue uniform. She thought it was only proper. But Günter, upon seeing it, seemed confused with the "tail" draping in the back. It was only after Jennifer explained that the coat was designed that way to make it easier for riding horseback that Günter fell in love with it as well as his monarch all over again.

A single harpist stood in the corner plucking with precision. Each string vibrated, catching Yuuri's attention. He really wanted to focus on something other than what he was going through right now. Then, his heart jumped when the small, elderly Mazoku woman stopped abruptly and played a differfent tune.

_This is it!_

Yuuri could feel his face flush. And he hoped that his family and the nobles didn't notice how he was behaving.

The double black glanced over to see that both Conrad and Gwendal were at his side as his groomsmen. Traditionally, their job was to sit next to their mother and lend her support in this moment where they were to literally hand their youngest over to the king. "To make him Yuuri Heika's problem," as Gwendal said smugly before the ceremony began, the trio getting dressed in one of the rooms provided by the shrine maidens. But, Yuuri had asked specifically for Conrad and Gwendal to stand by him—which aggravated Shori's brother complex—because of his least creative excuse of "nerves." (Well, that and the fact that Shori had been badgering him for the last month about why he had to get married "right now.")

The double black gave an almost terrified glance to Conrad. Any moment now, the heavy wooden doors would open and Wolfram, with his train of attendants from his elite guard, would walk through it. Günter explained to him that he should expect to see his fiancé wearing white—a symbol that Wolfram's old life was gone and a new life would begin again from this day forward. And at the reception, the blond would emerge wearing a black silk vest to show his new position in the kingdom. (A woman would have been given a black silk shawl.)

Old and new. His life changing in this moment. Yuuri had to restrain himself because he wanted to put a hand behind his head and laugh nervously. This seemed so unreal.

With a deep groan, the wooden doors opened and out stepped Greta. Yuuri felt some relief in seeing her first and dressed so prettily in her new gown—a peach colored, floor length empire design with a white rose, practically a bud, behind her right ear. Günter had explained that this "bud" was a sign that the king did not see his daughter as old enough to court and that it seemed reasonable enough because her Coming of Age party was not for some time.

Greta dropped glittered ivy leaves onto the carpet as she walked. She smiled—assuring all was well. He, in turn, beamed pure joy.

The music continued. It was both sad and sweet. Briefly, Yuuri wondered why Wolfram had chosen such a tune to announce his entrance. But, maybe, there was something traditional about that which escaped his memory. Yuuri fingered, briefly, the thin crown upon his head. A wedding crown was always of the king's choosing. And Yuuri had decided upon one that was simple, slender, and with cherry blossoms etched into the gold. (Though, of all the crowns Lady Cheri had shown him, it seemed strange that she would have one exactly to his tastes. He suspected that she'd been planning part of this wedding for years.)

Eight soldiers in dark blue dress military uniforms entered single file with glowing fireballs in their hands. These rotated slowly but the very centers were sparked with deep blue, matching the uniforms to perfection. As they neared the altar, Wolfram's attendants separated two by two—some going to Yuuri's side of the temple and others to Wolfram's.

The double black fidgeted. This was it—the beginning. He could feel his heart thumping in his chest and he prayed that he wouldn't black out. The prayer repeated in his head again and again until he saw the lone figure in the doorway.

Catching all of the shifting candlelight in the room, a blond angel's hair sparkled. Wolfram stood before them wearing a white silk tunic with a raised, stiff collar. Hand made lace was at the throat and long sleeves with five pearl buttons positioned down the front. The trousers were of similar color and straight legged and, maybe, cut just a little bit too tight in places that Yuuri didn't want to think about. Worse yet, in places Yuuri didn't want _other people_ to think about. But, it was the white cape that made him regal. Wolfram's pearl-studded cape fastened around his shoulders and cascaded down his back, seemingly to float over the floor.

Wolfram held a modest bouquet of red roses that were taken from the royal rose garden that morning and tied with silk ribbons in white and black.

Yuuri grinned sheepishly as emerald eyes glanced at him. Yuuri's smile faded quickly enough, though, when he saw Wolfram continue—sweeping his eyes around the room. And, for the first time that evening, it occurred to him that the blond didn't want to be there.

Wolfram readjusted his features into an expression of great pride that people had naturally come to associate with the blond bishonen. He lifted his chin and pulled in a breath. He glanced at his mother, who smiled back—bursting with pride in her shockingly red dress.

Wolfram seemed fine.

But Yuuri knew better.

This felt weird. No, worse than "weird." It felt _wrong_ somehow.

Yuuri rubbed his chin, trying to figure it out. _For years, this was all that Wolfram had talked about. And he was so adamant about being in on all of the planning._ The double black gave a sidelong view to Conrad and Gwendal_. In fact, a really big interest. And I'm not entirely sure how I managed to get roped into doing this now, but…_ He turned to look at Wolfram again as the guests bowed to the handsome young man_. It was something about losing Wolfram…his military career… and making him go back in disgrace to his Uncle Waltorana's castle if we didn't do this. _

The blond angel approached.

_But, still…_

It was hard not to lose his heart to the sight of Wolfram von Bielefeld walking in his direction—muted shimmers peeking out from behind the lace at his collar. How that was even possible, Yuuri didn't know. But he had never seen Wolfram looking so radiant, so fetching—far better than any woman could ever hope to be.

_A dream painted in watercolors on a pearl…_

Green eyes cut in Yuuri's direction. "You look good," Wolfram said flatly, barely moving his lips as he stopped by Yuuri's side. "I've never seen clothes like that before. But, good. You're handsome."

Yuuri felt his face flush at that. "T-Thanks," he returned with a slight chuckle, readjusting his crown. "You look…um…" Words escaped him.

"I appreciate it," Wolfram interrupted as almost a sigh under his breath.

There it was again. That feeling.

He took Wolfram's hand as Ulrike recited the opening greeting. It was probably something inconsequential anyway compared to how his fiancé was feeling. Nerves, maybe?

"Wolf?" Yuuri whispered.

"Hm?" The blond tried not to move his head to give the guests any indication that they were speaking.

Green eyes cut to him. "We have to stand here for the next hour and a half. Let's just get through this and we'll talk."

"Oh…okay," the double black said, both disappointed and, oddly, glad at the same time.

Wolfram bowed his head a little. "I know you want to call this off, but just tolerate it and all will become clear."

Yuuri blinked at that. What was Wolfram saying?

The blond turned, took three strides, and handed his bouquet to his mother. Then, he returned to Yuuri's side.

"Your Majesty, your vows?" Ulrike said, smiling sweetly.

Yuuri nodded. Yes, he had to say this part, didn't he? He tugged at the collar rubbing his Adam's apple. Yuuri glanced at Wolfram who had a "Get on with it, wimp" vibe in his eyes. "Okay… As the 27th Maou of Shin Makoku, I, Shibuya Yuri, accept Lord Wolfram von Bielefeld as my Prince Consort. I choose him above all others to remain by my side until we are parted by death." It was simple, short, and to the point. The best part was that Wolfram couldn't object because it was modeled after Lady Cheri's wedding vows to Gwendal's father.

Wolfram turned to Yuuri and got down on one knee as a thin crown, the same style as Yuuri's but made of silver instead of gold, was placed on his head by Gwendal. "I accept the honor." Wolfram's words were quiet, ghostly. Most likely, nobody beyond the first two rows heard a word of it.

A small bell tinkled sweetly to symbolize a spiritual bond being formed.

Wolfram stood up again and faced Ulrike and Murata.

Up until that moment, Murata's glasses held a sheen that made it impossible to see past. But, now, it was clear to Yuuri that Murata and Wolfram seemed to be speaking to each other without words. But, for the life of him, he couldn't understand why.

"May I have the rings?" Ulrike asked and Greta got up from her seat on Yuuri's side of the temple. On a ceremonial lacquer tray, she presented two bands—one silver and one gold. Once again, Yuuri had selected something simple with no adornment. But, it had been a difficult decision because he worried that Wolfram would have chosen a more elaborate set of bands.

Ulrike took a ring in each hand and raised the pair toward the ceiling. Immediately, the room burst with a silvery brightness and rainbowed spots of light appeared on the walls. The guests gasped at the wonderful blessing that Shinou had given them. Surely, this was a couple who belonged together.

Yuuri, too, was impressed and he turned to share the moment with Wolfram. Maybe, he could whisper a question. Maybe, this happened at all royal weddings. It would be great if Shinou could do this for Greta someday in the future—far, far in the future. But, Wolfram only glanced at it all with a strange expression that was something akin to being mildly impressed and solemn.

"Hands, please?" Ulrike said sweetly.

Wolfram and Yuuri placed their open palms before Ulrike and she put the appropriate ring in each hand.

"I go first," Wolfram murmured in an undertone.

"_Oh_…okay."

Yuuri tried not to stare, but he couldn't help but study Wolfram's face. It held a childlike concentration—picking the appropriate finger and needing to do this one thing right the first time. Yuuri dearly wanted to laugh at it and, at the same time, hug Wolfram for trying to do his best.

"My turn," Yuuri said, easily selecting the appropriate slim, pale finger to place the ring on. With a little "victory" jig in his heart, he looked up into Wolfram's face only to see that his eyes and thoughts were elsewhere—staring over his shoulder at the guests assembled.

"Wolfram?" Yuuri whispered. The blond had missed it. This moment had been important. It had been. It simply had to be because he knew the bishonen so well and, now, this moment was gone forever. _Why?_

Wolfram turned his face back and eyed the ring owlishly. "They have to play two more songs for us and one for Shinou Heika after this next part."

Onyx eyes blinked. "Next?"

"Arms forward, please," Murata said while gathering up three ribbons—one white, one black, and one yellow gold.

Wolfram stretched his arm out and Yuuri copied the motion. He had a vague memory of Günter saying "ribbons," but had started to zone out at that moment, dreaming about lunch instead.

Murata stepped way from the altar, approached the couple, and rested Yuuri's palm on top of Wolfram's.

"As the sage, it is my honor to bind the lives of a king—and personal friend," he winked, "with the person he truly deserves." Murata looked to the crowd assembled. "But I thought this all along. You see, the journey to 'love' is difficult and complicated. It's that part of ourselves that understands and acknowledges that lives are not meant to be lived alone. Naturally, we seek out our other half, our 'split-apart,' the one who waits for us to grow into the person truly worthy when the time is right. And somehow, when love comes, we wake to realize that this other person has woven themselves into our lives and our hearts." And, with that, he draped the black ribbon down onto their wrists.

Murata turned his face up the guests again. "There is a difference between 'loving' someone and 'being in love with' someone. And 'benevolence' accompanies such devotion in both word and deed. Sometimes, sacrifices must be made in order to achieve these things. In order to achieve the greater good… But, that is the nature of love…of honor…and of duty. And that is the demand placed upon those honored with the title of 'consort'."

Yuuri swallowed thickly as the white ribbon fell across their wrists. He closed his eyes for a second and just told himself that his arm was tired. That was it. That was all.

"The yellow," Murata went on, "as all assembled knows, is a symbol of wealth. But it is also a symbol of courage."

The sage draped the ribbon, gathered the bunch up, and tied them loosely in a knot.

The harp player began again the moment Murata put his hand on top and lowered Yuuri and Wolfram's arms. "All that's left is the kiss," Murata murmured as he went back to his place by Ulrike.

"Uh…uah…umn," Yuuri uttered incoherently. He pretended to clear his throat.

Wolfram rolled his eyes. If he could have taken his hand back, he would have. But Yuuri was still holding his hand and the ribbons bound them together. Any motion at this point would have caused a scene that Günter would have loved to document for generations in the future to study.

One harped song blended into the next with, this time, a timid little strawberry-haired girl singing sweetly. Yuuri tried to focus on that. _Yes, a lovely voice_, he told himself. She seemed to be half Mazoku and that made him feel good. He wanted to show that he believed in the equality of people. Bigotry, in any form, was not acceptable.

He turned to Wolfram again when "Shinou's Song" began. But the blond held an expression that he could not read. There was not a blush on his face and his hand felt cold. Yuuri lowered his eyes to the black velvet carpet as Murata said something that he wasn't paying particular attention to.

Yuuri's hand got a hard squeeze and he almost yelped at it. Green eyes glared at him.

_Holy cow! What did I do this time? All I did was stand here and…!_

"Kiss me," Wolfram gritted out. In the span of a few short seconds, his handsome face had taken on a look of mortification. He took a few hard breaths, too.

"Eh?" Yuuri leaned in but didn't do it. He needed to hear that again because, clearly, his ears were telling lies to him.

Someone in the background, who sounded suspiciously like Lady Cheri, giggled.

"You have to kiss me," Wolfram hissed under his breath. "You have to do it to show you accept me. If not, it's all _ruined_."

Yuuri noted with growing alarm that the emerald eyes conveyed desperation, as though everything hinged on this one kiss. Then, instead of simply taking his lips, as Yuuri suspected he might, the blond turned his face away abruptly and anger burned through him. The double black could swear that his ribbon-tied hand was hot because the slim fingers were digging into his palm painfully with a sudden, intense burn.

"W-Wolf…?"

Onyx eyes grew impossibly wide.

A hand against the shoulder of his tux, pushing and digging in hard.

His body fell backwards and terrified shouts from the guests followed. The din grew louder as Conrad ran down the isle, elbows pumping. Fireballs were launched at the far left corner of the hall. Cursing loudly words that should never be uttered at a wedding, Gwendal set up a barrier around Yuuri and Wolfram while Conrad unsheathed his sword and aimed it at the throat a guest who was still poised with a small, silver dagger tipped in green fluid, arm back and about to throw.

"Drop it," Conrad ordered in a tone he hadn't used since the last war.

"And you, too" one of Wolfram's men growled with his sword pointed at an usher in the far left corner of the room. This middle aged stranger held a similar dagger that he had been trying to pass to a noble woman who had, seemingly, arrived late for the ceremony.

Gwendal approached her with sword drawn. "You know what to do," he ordered to Wolfram's man and then, quickly, he scanned the rest of the dearly beloved to see if any other conspirators were among them.

The lemon haired lady threw a defiant glare at Gwendal as she was dragged away by her wrists with the two others for the palace dungeon. Their questioning would begin almost immediately.

"Exactly what is going on here?" Waltorana von Bielefeld demanded, getting up from his seat next to Lady Cheri only to see that his dear nephew was still on the carpet with his body shielding their maou.

Heart still beating hard, the blond sat up—not realizing he was straddling Yuuri in front of the whole nobility—and shook his head to clear it. He wiped his mouth on the back of his silk sleeve. During the fall, he had kissed Yuuri—which was more of a bump than a kiss. But it had happened and, most assuredly, it had been done against the double black's will. Wolfram crushed the memory into a ball and, mentally, set it on fire. He didn't need it.

_Thank Shinou this is over._

Slim fingers found the ribbons and tore them away from his wrist. "We have something to explain to you all," Wolfram declared, getting off the young king beneath him.

"Something to tell us? Humph! It seems as though being on top of His Highness is nothing new," someone gossiped behind Lady Cheri. Overhearing, she smiled at that from where she sat.

Wolfram straightened the wrinkles out of his clothes as he spoke. "We had suspected for quite awhile that a small band of assassins loyal to Big Cimaron had been targeting our maou." Wolfram pointed to Yuuri who was still sitting awkwardly on the floor, as confused as the rest of the room.

"We chose this method to draw them out," Gwendal added, "but could tell no one for fear that word would get to them."

Mutterings and harsh whispers began to rise in the room like a tide. The wives and servants of the nobility were the worst of them—pretending to be speaking quietly when, in fact, that was the last thing they were doing. "How terrible!" and "We were in danger this whole time" floated to Wolfram's ears.

Gallantly, the blond offered Yuuri a hand up and immediately released it once the double black was on his feet again. He stepped forward as his uncle approached him with a loud, booming voice. "So, you would risk us all with this little charade? Or did such interests not concern you?" He made a grand, sweeping motion to the room—which played well among the nobles and their families. Someone in the back clapped.

But, Wolfram would have none of it. He'd done enough—played his part to perfection—and he wasn't in the mood.

"Explain to me, uncle, just who you think you are?"

The heated words earned gasps of astonishment and the room immediately quieted down with Wolfram's glare that swept the room.

The fact that von Bielefelds argued was nothing new. It was in their natures as fire wielders. But, to do so out in the open and in Shinou's temple—a near god that Wolfram resembled so closely that it was, at times, disconcerting—bordered on blasphemy.

"Who, in this room is more _important_…more _powerful_ than the Maou?" He gestured to Yuuri but, then, upstaged him—walking in a trudge towards his flamboyant uncle. "Let me tell you, then, if you've forgotten. That man is your king! And you will fight for him…and _die_ for him…if you have to!" His voice was reaching a crescendo. And he didn't care who heard him. All of those years of throwing tantrums were about to pay off. "His life was in danger and I stood right beside him! I was prepared to take the blow for him and die in his place…a hundred times over, if need be!" He rounded on the older man, forcing his father's brother to visibly take a step backwards. "And any Mazoku man or woman here…who would not do the same…cannot call himself or herself… a _noble_!"

"Would anyone disagree with my brother's statement?" Gwendal asked in a much more subdued tone. He could tell that Yuuri was about to open his mouth with a wimpy suggestion but flashed an angry "shut up" stare and the double black clamped his mouth shut.

"Of course not," Waltorana conceded in a flustered way but folded his arms against his chest to show that he was still not satisfied.

"Then, we are all in agreement!" Lady Cheri chirped, standing up and placing a friendly hand on Waltorana's shoulder. "And, that means that we all need food and drinks in The Grand Ballroom." She waved happily to one of the ushers. "Please show everyone the way to the reception."

With a brief nod, the mousy brown haired Mazoku in his rich, fine clothes opened the door and made a grand bow.

Somewhat subdued now that the drama was over, the nobles and other guests filed out—mingling with each other and cheering up slightly at the thought of refreshments.

"Mother," Wolfram said, making her pause. Her eyes, to anyone else, would seem to hold the usual bright and happy glow. But, Wolfram guessed that this day was nothing that she's hoped for. Once again, the blond Mazoku felt that he'd failed. Didn't every mother dream of seeing her son's wedding? She did. He knew she did.

With ease, he passed his fingers over the pearl studded clasps at his shoulders and released the white cape. "This is yours, I believe. Thank you for loaning me Grandfather's cape. I appreciate it." With care, he passed the precious cape from his arms to his mother's—as though handing her a small child.

"Thank you." She kissed his cheek instead of crushing his face into her chest—the usual greeting or parting gesture. But, she did hand him the bouquet of flowers back as a parting gesture.

"I'm sorry," Wolfram whispered to himself, the hand with the flowers dangling low. What a nightmare this was.

The blond turned to see the remaining group standing behind him. Wolfram told himself that if he could just get through the next five minutes, he'd allow himself to vent his feelings—some way, somehow—alone, in private.

Ulrike bowed slightly and followed the group out. That left Conrad, Gwendal, Murata, Shori, Yuuri, and Yuuri's parents. Jennifer gave Wolfram a pleased expression. The white night had saved her little Yuu-chan. Yuuri's mother clasped her hands to her chest. But this gave no comfort to Wolfram. Instead, his lips formed a straight line.

"Interesting way to get married, huh?" Murata said, stepping to Wolfram's side to inspect the ring more closely.

"What are you saying?" Wolfram growled defensively.

The sage's glasses flashed and Yuuri could feel himself getting queasy at it because there was trouble ahead. He just knew it.

"Well," the sage pointed to the ring on Wolfram's left hand, "this was a wedding and you did get married."

Wolfram's emerald eyes grew wide and he shook his head in disbelief. "No! Back in the beginning, we all agreed that this was just a trick to get the assassins to make their move." He pointed to Yuuri with an index finger. "Nobody would really be getting married. It was staged! A fake!"

Murata laughed nervously. "I'm sorry to say this, but…it's all quite legal. Right before entering this room, you signed the forms as did Shibuya."

"That woman with the yellow hair was loitering in the hallway. How could I not?!" Wolfram raked his fingers through his blond hair.

"And…" Murata was enjoying this part immensely "…You exchanged rings, were tied with ribbons…_kissed_." He just had to emphasize the accidental lip lock that happened once the couple fell to the floor.

"No," Wolfram breathed, doubling over slightly with his hand over his heart. It was beating so hard. "No…no…no!"

"Wolf…ram?" Yuuri said in a worried tone, moving over to place a hand on the blond's lower back.

Hard emerald eyes shot to him. "How can you say that, Yuuri?" Wolfram sounded almost bloodthirsty.

He blinked back. "Well…I…uh…"

"This wedding was a mistake!" Wolfram's right hand was lowered at his side, fisting the flowers to the point that a thorn pricked his thumb. "Our engagement was a mistake!" He turned to look Yuuri directly in the face. "WE ARE A MISTAKE!"

Wolfram was breathing hard by the time his own words hit him. Worst of all, he was absolutely right. Looking up and to the right, the blond bishonen could see Shori's face. This soon-to-be King of Earth was in total agreement with his words. Without scanning the faces of those around him, Wolfram knew that they probably held the same opinions.

The fool in this situation was the idiot standing with a bouquet of wedding flowers.

They probably pitied him.

"Wolfram, I…" Yuuri tried but the blond stepped away. He held the bouquet up in the air in the hopes that Shinou, that sorry bastard who shared his face, would see. With a devilish forced-smirk and eyes pricking with tears, he set the flames to it—the black and white ribbons flew up and burned in a heartbeat and the baby's breath around the edge of the flowers took flame after that. The red roses, still fresh, smoldered for awhile before the petals turned black and curled inwards on themselves.

Wolfram tossed the remains to the floor and stomped out the flames with a foot.

"I won't accept it. We are _not_ married!"

His face looked angry, wild, dangerous—only a thin layer of control brushed across his features.

Ruined. Everything was ruined. He'd waited so long for Yuuri to come to him. To want him. He would have waited his whole life for the double black to have accepted their relationship and accepted their lives together. It wasn't sex that Wolfram wanted so badly. It was intimacy—for Yuuri to share that small, precious part of himself, his soul, that no one else could ever touch. To share that. To share life. Wolfram knew better than anyone, as a soldier, that life had the illusion of permanence—of stability. But, it wasn't really like that. "Life," often, was fragile and "hope" was a thread.

Wolfram's thread…_broke_.

"I think you should all go to the reception and hold the hand of the noble class," Wolfram said with anger still burning in his eyes. "…See this play to the final curtain, why don't you…?" He turned abruptly and stormed his way to the door.

"Wolfram? Where are you going?" Gwendall called to his back. He couldn't believe that his brother was being so childish when the situation called for calm and levelheaded thinking. Of course both Wolfram and Yuuri had to appear at their own reception. What excuse could they give otherwise?

With heavy steps, the blond kept walking in the direction of the open door. "Me?" he returned. "I'll go back to the castle, too, and get…blissfully, blissfully drunk. Goodnight, all."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

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He twisted, eyes scrunched shut. With a muffled "pop" the second bottle opened, foaming slightly and emitting a pale vapor. Wolfram, who was bare-chested and wearing only the white trousers from his wedding outfit, had covered the bottle with the edge of the quilt as he'd eased the cork out.

It still made an amusing "pop," though. That was good.

The blond put the champagne bottle to his mouth and took a deep swig. Sitting on the stone floor at the edge of the hearth, he gave the cork a quick spin into the first cork, now dried and hard, and wondered, briefly, if he could smack them into each other again, this time, with a single flick.

_People are like that too,_ he thought vaguely before taking another mouthful of the sparkling wine and losing all traces of the previous idea that had flickered through his brain. He shrugged. It might have been important. But, at the moment, the only thing that demanded his attention was the tickle of the bubbles as they went down his throat.

Wolfram smacked his lips and pulled the dark brown quilt around his shoulders a little tighter. His night clothes were all in Yuuri's room which, ordinarily, wouldn't be a problem. However, at the moment, he was back in his "office" (AKA "old bedroom") with nothing left to wear except the spare uniform hanging in the closet. Thus, the need for the thick quilt around his lithe form on this cold December night.

The blond sighed to himself and hugged the bottle against his chest like a teddy bear. It was cold like the stone floor was cold, seeping into his skin. Head tilted hawkishly down, he eyed the champagne again. His affair with "drinking" was down to the second, and soon-to-be final, bottle that he'd swiped from the kitchen upon his return. Still dressed in his wedding attire and with a bottle gripped in each hand, he'd walked back to his old room—passing guards that he knew full well would snitch on his whereabouts once one of his brothers had bothered to ask.

He took a swig. The stuff tasted damn good.

Blearily, Wolfram squinted over to the black vest he was to wear at the reception that was, in fact, going on right now in The Grand Ballroom. The silk garment, lined with a row of black semi-precious stones called "Maou's Tears," was hanging limply off of the back of the chair where he'd thrown it before downing the first bottle. Wolfram, once again, could see himself in his mind's eye—arguing against having one made in the first place. But Gwendal insisted. Asking the tailor _not_ to make a vest for the new Royal Consort would be a major red flag. And anything that would give even a hint as to the legitimacy of the wedding would not be acceptable. Wolfram remembered looking to Conrad, as though the "voice of reason" would side with him on this one issue. But, all he got was a thin smile and reassuring words that, even now, he couldn't remember. Only to tone of voice stayed with him.

_Damn…_

Wolfram took an even bigger swig and almost choked on it, foam coming up his nose.

The door knocked twice and, before Wolfram could bellow "Go away!" it swung open. In stepped a rather beefy looking woman with large biceps dressed formally in a cook's black and white aproned uniform. The outfit was, for some odd reason, cut suggestively high up the right thigh.

Wolfram, drunk as he was, could only stare hazily until he put _two and two_ together and came up with "Yozak."

"The one and only," the orange haired spy said cheerfully. He pretended to give his full attention to Wolfram but his eyes were sweeping the room, taking in the scene with precision.

"I knew I should have locked that door," Wolfram mumbled into his bottle as he lifted it to his lips.

Yozak's eyes fell to the bottle's twin, empty and on its side by the hearth. "Everyone's looking for you…and pretending not to…in front of the guests." He chuckled at that, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. He felt something under his rump and, immediately, stood up again.

"It's only the tunic top," Wolfram said, offering the bottle to Yozak to drink. "It's not like anyone's ever going to wear it again. It doesn't matter if it gets wrinkled."

The spy turned his attention back to the situation at hand and the champagne. "Oh, so I get the honor of drinking with Lord Wolfram?"

Wolfram shrugged with a sloppy gesture.

Yozak took the bottle in one hand and placed his lips to it—tasting it. Then, he scanned the label. This was old, expensive, and delicious. This was, probably, the bottle that they were planning to use to make the toast to the happy couple. And, by the evil glint in Wolfram's eye, he'd probably known that all along.

"You know, I had a feeling that you would be here…" he began conversationally.

Boyishly, Wolfram laughed at that and flipped his bangs out of his face with an awkward motion. "Translation: I asked the guards where the brat was and they told me."

Yozak rolled his eyes with a sheepish grin. "And, as a favor to you, I encouraged the kiddo…"

"His Royal wimpiness…"

Sky blue eyes cut back in his direction. "… To go looking for you by the rose garden and the royal bedroom." He scooted the tunic top aside and sat down again. "But there was no persuading him to _not look_." The orange haired man thought that emphasizing the last two words would have some meaning. But, it didn't.

Following a totally undignified "hic," the ex-prince covered his mouth and muttered the word "thanks."

"He cares about you," Yozak soothed. "You know that, right?"

Wolfram's brown quilt fell from his shoulders to his lap—revealing a well-formed torso earned from years of swordsman ship. The cool air in the room, however, gripped him immediately—making his skin chill and prickle. "Yuuri cares about a lot of people. I just happen to be one of them." He turned to the fire and dipped his fingers inside before Yozak could utter a word.

The spy lurched forward to stop the inebriated bishonen before it was too late. Now, on his knees, he was starting to panic. This was his captain's baby brother who was both drunk and unreasonable.

"What?" Wolfram blinked back innocently with fire burning in his left palm.

"Ummm…" He couldn't think of a response to that. And he started to kick himself because he'd forgotten, if only for a moment, that Wolfram von Bielefeld was a fire wielder. It was just that Yozak had seen too many people get drunk and self-destructive. Yozak realized that he was a total fool if he thought that the proud blond was one of them.

With two fingers, Wolfram dipped into the flames and began to paint in the air—slashes, dots, the Mazoku symbol for nine but on its side. "Tomorrow, when I sober up, I'll write out a Declaration of Annulment." He painted diagonal slash marks over rolling lines and the curves of a heart-shape that Jennifer loved to add to the bottom of her "impossible to read Japanese" notes to him. "It's over," he sighed.

"Once you sober up tomorrow, things might not seem as bad," Yozak said. "Though, I do wish I had been there when the assassins made their move. But, I've been assigned another task by Gwendal and I haven't been able to return until now."

"So, how did it go?" Wolfram asked, making a dash with his flames. I felt good to hear about somebody else's problems for a change.

"A dead end." Yozak put the bottle to his mouth and took a drink.

"But what could be more important than the assassins?" Wolfram asked, eyes glossed over with drink and fatigue from the day.

"Finding the person who hired them in the first place, maybe." He leaned forward and cocked his head to one side to see the blond on the floor a bit better. All of the fire painting was making the room a bit smoggy. "With enough money, he or she can just do this all over again."

Wolfram made a "hmf" sound that Yozak took as agreement. The blond, then, turned the fire in his left hand into a twisting spiral—urging it up in the direction of the twelve foot ceiling above. He chuckled darkly to himself.

"Don't you think that's enough?" Yozak asked with an edge of seriousness.

"Why?"

"I don't like you playing with fire when you're three sheets to the wind."

With alcohol thickening his movements, Wolfram shifted around to look at him but lost his concentration as he did so. The fire flickered briefly and went out. But Wolfram's hazed, green eyes stayed fixed. He fisted the spy's black and white cook's hat, that was of a traditional design and worn by the staff at formal parties, in his right hand and tossed it against the wall. The blond stood up with a sway and tilted his head down to see Yozak's face. Naked from the waist up, blond hair touching his pale shoulders, and leaning inwardly thanks to his inebriation, even Yozak had to admit that Wolfram was toothsome.

Very.

_How could anyone not love him?_

"Make me," Wolfram challenged.

_Oh, yeah. There is that mouth of his._

"S-Sorry?" the spy said.

Wolfram folded his arms across his naked chest. "I said 'make me.' But I doubt that you ever could."

"Now that I think about it, you really need to sleep it off. So, go to bed," Yozak said bluntly. Though, he still managed to keep a boyish edge to his tone.

"Once again," Wolfram huffed in his brattiest voice and trying to take the bottle from Yozak with a tug, "I say you should 'make me'."

An orange eyebrow lifted. "Was that a challenge?"

Wolfram's head dipped with fatigue and he raked his nails against his face, leaving red marks. He had only been trying to push the tickly hairs back, but he was rougher on himself than he thought. Apparently, the alcohol was doing its job. "A challenge…" Then, a thought struck. "But, if you lose, you have to stay." _And we'll drink the last of the bottle._

It actually felt good to have a companion right now. Less lonely. An image of a goofy, smiling double black entered his mind. Even when he was with Yuuri he was lonely.

Yozak tore the champagne from Wolfram's grip, put it to his lips, and took a hard swig. The dark green bottle was thudded to the floor with a ringing sound.

"You're on, then."

With a twist, flat, onto the bed and a quick yank, Yozak managed to turn down the covers. He grabbed Wolfram by the right wrist and tipped him off center—which was easy enough. Emerald eyes widened as he felt himself being tugged downwards on top of Yozak's well sculpted body. Now, they were nose to nose, breathing heavily on each other. "To bed," the spy ordered.

"Make me," Wolfram huffed back, drunk but determined.

Yozak, in response, rolled his sky blue eyes in exasperation again. It was funny to watch this close up and Wolfram chuckled under his breath. He wondered, briefly, if Conrad ever got to view this from this close up.

He probably had. _But, still…_

Wolfram felt his body being lifted and muscles poised. He knew that, in seconds, he was going to be unceremoniously shoved back. Sure enough, a pillow found its way under his head. But, not to be outdone, Wolfram had clasped the over-sized biceps and his legs locked around Yozak. It was a lumpy and uncomfortable landing. But, now, the two of them were fully on the bed with Wolfram restrained underneath.

"Even when you're drunk… you're sneaky," Yozak admitted, huffing.

"And you really are that strong," Wolfram gritted out from below him, trying his best not to look like he was gasping for breath. "So, what do you say we call a truce and drink the last of that bottle?"

The spy laughed at him and then purposefully collapsed on top with an overly dramatic sigh—essentially pinning the blond bishonen to the mattress. "I'm sorry to say that there's nothing left. I finished off the bottle before we even started."

"What?" Wolfram shouted in his ear, which made the spy wince. "All of it?"

"Sorry," he chuckled, tucking a blond head under his chin. "You'll just have to give up now and go to sleep."

Wolfram tried to shift from below but got nowhere. "I suppose," Wolfram grumbled quietly, which made Yozak lean back to look at his face. All he could see was a profile. But that was enough to tell him that the fun was over for now.

After removing Wolfram's shoes, tucking in him and blowing out the candles, Yozak eased himself down onto the cold stone floor with the bed's foot board pressed against his back. He didn't feel like leaving Wolfram alone tonight. Not under these circumstances, at least. The blond was still hurting. And the spy wondered, briefly, if what he'd heard had happened at the temple was actually true. Sure, Wolfram had attended all the planning sessions. And everyone "in the know" had to make it seem as though a real wedding was taking place to the point that a real wedding _did_ take place. And, by some miracle, Yuuri had agreed to go along with it. But, did Wolfram really understand what he was doing? Was he so close to the issue that he had no perspective—wanting and, yet, _not_ _wanting_ for this day to come? Maybe, his mind couldn't accept the circumstances. Or, possibly, it was his heart.

Yozak scratched his cheek, remembering the conversation he had with Greta. Apparently, things had come to a head once they were at the "kissing" part of the ceremony.

_A simple kiss…_

Of course, there would be one. He shook his orange mane at that. It was, most certainly, a good thing their king didn't know the entire circumstance ahead of time. Unlike himself, Yuuri Heika could never be an actor. He just didn't have that in him.

Now, only the low burning fire in the hearth was glowing. The body shifted in the bed behind him. And the spy, turning around to look at Wolfram, could see that the young man was simply staring off into space—eyes open and lifeless. He had believed that the blond would have fallen asleep by now.

"Yozak?"

"Hm?"

"Happy wedding night," he sighed under his breath, trying not to sound as miserable as he felt.

"It will be okay…tomorrow…you'll see…" he said over his shoulder.

It was a lie. Wolfram knew it. And, ordinarily, he'd hate anyone who sugar-coated the truth. But having the spy with him was better than being alone. It was better than nothing even if his words were meaningless.

"Yozak?"

"Hm?" came the man's voice.

"Thanks."

An hour later, there was brief knock and the door opened. Yozak cracked an eye and then panic hit. They had forgotten to lock the door!

_What if it's the maids? Bad. Lady Cheri? Bad! Greta? Bad, bad, bad! Gwendal? I could lose my job, maybe, but it wouldn't be as bad as if…_

"What do you think, Conrad?" the voice asked. Two shadows stood there framed in white light from the hallway.

_OH HELL!_

And, then, they were inside the room—staring at Yozak wearing a cook's uniform that was crawling up his thighs while he sat suggestively on the floor in front of the fireplace with two champagne bottles on the floor. All the spy could muster was a brief "Hello" and a shy wave to the twosome.

"Eh?" Yuuri said, surprised that Wolfram wasn't alone, dead drunk, and passed out on the bed. The blond had done that after Yuuri had "flirted" with everyone in the room but him last New Year's.

Conrad frowned slightly but said nothing other than "How is he?"

"See for yourself." He thumbed in the blond's direction.

"Okay..." Conrad touched his little brother's cold, bare shoulder. Pulling the blankets away a bit and taken aback to see him sans nightgown, bare-chested. He called "Wolfram?" again with concern in his voice.

"Dead to the world, I think," Yozak said and pointed to the empty bottles on the floor. "He was playing with fire, too, so I stayed here to watch him before he set something…or _someone_…" He looked to Yuuri. "…On fire."

"Oh," Yuuri said while stepping away, feeling a bit foolish and uncomfortable with the sudden turn Wolfram's life had taken. "I guess, then, we should leave him here." At which point, Yuuri's foot slid hard and fast on the floor. Almost falling onto the sleeping blond, he, instead, grabbed onto Conrad for support—making the spy eye Conrad and Yuuri holding each other.

Yuuri, from his clinging position, gave Yozak an "I know this looks bad" face to which the spy only shrugged with what appeared to be disinterest. The older man made a quick thumbed gesture to the sleeping blond bishonen again. "Good thing he didn't see that…"

Conrad smiled benignly as Yuuri got to solid footing once more. He reached down to retrieve the object he'd slipped on only to discover it was Wolfram's wedding band. How it got on the floor, he could only guess. But, then, the white tunic top he was wearing earlier was down there, too—getting filthy with them standing on it.

"Go away," Wolfram growled, clawing at the covers and pulling them up against him. "I'll deal with you all in the morning when I sign Yuuri's annulment papers. Okay?"

"So, you are awake after all," Conrad noted almost pleasantly.

Yuuri's eyes widened with the word "annulment."

"Well, then, it's late. I guess, we'd better go," Conrad said approaching the door and then opening it.

Yozak got up and stretched the tight skirt down over his thighs, giving himself long enough to look over the blond one last time before he made his way out. The spy was about to leave when a hand clasped his forearm, stalling him. "Thanks for watching Wolfram," Conrad said lowly in Yozak's ear, letting him pass now.

With a hand on his hip and red hair tossed, "It wasn't that much of a torture with him drunk out of his mind and his shirt off." Yozak winked to his captain and got a "You just watch your ass" smirk in return.

They'd talk later.

Yuuri, on the other hand, lingered a little longer by Wolfram's bed. He felt guilty again and didn't understand exactly why. He felt: wrong, empty, heavy, and alone. But it was all mixed up into something he couldn't sift through or sort out yet. But, what he did know was that he was losing Wolfram. Clearly, the wedding wasn't enough to keep him.

What more did Wolfram want?

* * *

The next morning, contrary to Yozak's kindly spoken words, was not much "better." But he didn't think it would be. The blond stood from the bed and immediately plopped himself down onto the floor with a dull "thud." Reaching desperately, he pulled the chamber pot from underneath, took off the lid, and dry heaved. Wolfram stayed that way for awhile, wanting to throw up and, yet, knowing that it wasn't possible. He'd been too nervous to eat before the ceremony and too angry to have a bite afterwards. Drooling was a poor substitute for vomiting ("better out than in"). He only felt slobbery and undignified afterwards.

A little more awake, Wolfram's bladder complained to him, which could be taken care of quite easily. But, more importantly, "I think I need a bath," his vanity spoke. _Beauty before comfort_-that was the unofficial von Bielefeld motto. Head aching, he grumbled incoherently to himself, forcing his legs to support him.

Minutes ticked on. How many? He wasn't certain. Wolfram was now sitting on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands. He was feeling tired but, at least, he wasn't on the floor anymore and that nagging bladder had shut up for the time being. But, he still felt grimy and hung over. Well, actually, he'd never admit to feeling hung over. He would just do the usual and use some healing magic on himself even if the process of self-healing was piteously slow.

"Bath…" he said to himself. The Maou's bath, which was where he had to go now that he was married to Yuuri, was not that far away. He could have used the private bath reserved for Gwendal, Conrad, and other high ranking members of the castle—and would have preferred it—but the location was the issue. That particular bath was farther away and he'd, most likely, run into someone he knew. Worse yet, maybe several "someones" as the wedding guests were probably still in the castle.

"I guess, I have no choice," the blond murmured. He took his spare uniform from the closet and headed for Yuuri's bath. Maybe, by this time, the double black would be off eating breakfast or signing tedious paperwork. Wolfram really couldn't tell the time of day by the amount of daylight out there. It didn't matter, though, as long as he could wash and feel better. And he had a lot to do—starting with forgetting that this was the first day of his honeymoon.

With only a white towel across his lap, Wolfram had perched himself on the small wooden stool. The blond bishonen tilted his chin up as he splashed warm water all over his body using a heavy, hand-painted porcelain cup that was, actually, wide enough to be called a "bowl." He dipped it down into the container filled with rosewater once more and gently wetted his hair before shampooing—rubbing his scalp with the tips of his fingers.

Smoothing it in and rubbing bubbles softly from his brow, the blond let his mind wander as he lathered. He needed to word this right in his head before putting quill to paper and writing out his declaration. He needed to explain the circumstances in detail as well as the outcome. He'd move on to defining "misunderstanding" and "legal ambiguity." Wolfram scrubbed his hair a little more with the lather going down his back. Yes, that wording would be good, he decided. Following that, he'd add that "no marriage had taken place" and that he could marry Yuuri, for certain, at an unspecified date in the future.

But Wolfram's face frowned at that thought.

There would be no marriage. He knew that now. Why had he hoped for so long when it was never bound to happen? Maybe, it was habit. That was all. Then again, if he didn't put in that clause about the "future marriage," his family's status would fall and the suitors would come knocking at the castle door. That would be for certain. It had happened before. _Before Yuuri slapped me and made me his…_

The blond sighed, scooped up more scented water and splashed himself with it.

"Why me? Because I…I…" He sighed as he sat on the edge of the tub and dipped his feet in. _Because I opened my mouth and said something I shouldn't have… Because I am as selfish as people say. And I want the impossible. That's why…_

"Wolfram?" came from the door. How long Yuuri had been standing there, he didn't exactly know.

"S-Sorry…?" Wolfram said, slightly rattled, now realizing that he wasn't alone.

"I'm glad I found you," Yuuri went on, wearing his white jogging suit. Over his left arm was draped a black uniform still on its hanger, and, in his right hand, a small wooden bucket with his bath things. "After all that went on last night, I mean." He put his things down in the usual place and unzipped his long sleeved jacket. The steamy room felt good after that cold, morning run. "Feel better?" he asked almost timidly.

The blond turned his attention back to the water. He still felt green from the night before and knew that his eyes were probably bloodshot. "I'll live," Wolfram answered in a monotone, kicking his feet and splashing the far end of the enormous tub.

"Ah," Yuuri returned, now sitting on the stool. He dipped into the bucket of water and, then, gave it a quick sniff. "Wait…this smells like…"

"It's special," Wolfram stated flatly, "for the beginning of a royal honeymoon... It's the traditional gift from the housekeeping staff. The water is holy water blessed by the shrine and scented with roses."

"Oh…I…um…" Yuuri peeked into the white, ornately decorated jar next to him to see if any petals were floating on top. He didn't know exactly why he was doing it. He guessed that it was out of curiosity.

Green eyes cut to the right. "Go ahead and use it. It's no big deal." Slowly, Wolfram released a sigh so that Yuuri wouldn't see that it bothered him. But, when he thought more upon it, just being in the room bothered him. Still, a foolish, treacherous, turn-coat part of his heart still wanted to stay—still wanted to be near—even with the knowledge that "hope" was a lie told in fairy stories.

Silently, he cursed himself for this weakness.

"Wolfram?" a heavily scented Yuuri said as he sat down next to the blond. "Um…can we…talk?"

_Here it comes._ He tried to mask his features but a frown found its way nonetheless.

"It's about last night…our…um…wedding and all…"

"I haven't written up the annulment. I'll do that once I leave here."

Yuuri laughed a little and raked his fingers through his wet, raven hair. "You know, after all of these years, I got so used to you talking about our 'wedding' that it's just plain weird to hear you talk about an annulment."

"I'm sorry," Wolfram replied in a hollow tone, not knowing what else to say under the circumstances.

Yuuri cocked his head to one side curiously and let his black eyes fall onto the handsome face next to him. "Why are you sorry?"

With a flash of anger, Wolfram sat up with hands fisted. "I should be! _And_…and, more importantly, you should be. In fact, you shouldn't be acting this way at all!"

"What way?" He just didn't get it.

"What do you mean, 'What way?' You should be anything but like this." He gestured to Yuuri's calm, casual posture.

A smile tugged at Yuuri's lips. _Same old Wolf… I'm glad._

"Look," Wolfram stated hotly and scooted a bit to the side so that he could look directly into the face of his king. "You should be _angry_ that you were manipulated into a wedding you didn't want. You should be _upset_ that there was a plot against your life that you'd never heard of. My family…Mother, Conrad, Gwendal… _me_… We all kept this from you. You fell on your butt in front of the whole nobility. That's embarrassing! Especially with you sprawled out on the floor, me on top…" The blond cringed and put a hand to his head trying to push the memory away. "We almost broke our teeth against each other in what people call a 'kiss' and I call 'an unfortunate collision of lips.' And you just wake up the next day like nothing is wrong with your life!"

Yuuri rubbed a finger against his lower lip. "Well, it is a little sore but my mouth is fine, really."

"Eh?" Wolfram's eyes bugged.

Yuuri leaned in a little. "And, to be perfectly honest, I understand what you're saying." He tried to smile reassuringly at Wolfram who could only glare in frustration at Yuuri. "But, I guess what I didn't tell you is that I suspected something was up from the start." He moved his feet slowly in the water—feeling the waves between his toes. "And, while I trust everyone here…and I know that they'll do what it takes to do what's right…" He put a hand on Wolfram's shoulder. "I know that you would never hurt me."

The blond closed his eyes and tilted his head towards the ceiling.

"Wolfram, we've been together for so long that I know things. I just…I just know them." He shrugged at himself. "I know how you are and your moods. I know when you're happy and when you're hurting. I'm not as oblivious as people make me out to be." His vision seemed far away now, staring at the steam rising on the opposite side of the bath. "I could tell you were worried for the past month…walking me from place to place, glaring at anyone who'd come near…more so than usual, I mean." He laughed nervously for a bit. "It wasn't just the same ol' chasing pretty faces away from me. It was anyone…anyone outside our circle of friends here and you were especially protective of Greta. That threw me off a bit until I realized that you were more than defensive, you were almost…" He hedged at the word "afraid."

Wolfram's eyes widened at the insult. "I'm never afraid! I do what must be done and I do it because I have to." He raised a fist in the air to show his prowess.

Yuuri shook his head "no" and leaned closer. "You were afraid…for me."

Wolfram folded his arms across his chest and looked away. "We caught them. Once we find out who offered up the money, it will all be over."

"Not quite…" He produced a circle of shining silver.

Wolfram turned back and blinked at it. "That…" He was flabbergasted.

"Your ring," Yuuri said, opening Wolfram's palm and placing the warm circle into it. The double black closed pale fingers around the smooth surface.

"How did you…?"

"I visited your room last night…remember?" He smiled. "I sort of…_found it_…"

"Yes…now I recall…" The ex-prince didn't smile. Instead, he seemed more distant. "Yes, you did…by stomping on it and clinging to Conrad." He fisted the ring. "But, why are you giving this back to me? It isn't important. It's just part of this scene that we staged."

"I don't agree."

"Don't _agree_?" he parroted. Wolfram opened his palm and eyed the shining metal. That was all it was. Metal. And, now, everything was so complicated and so mixed up. Wolfram was, by nature a "fixer." _But, this? _Something felt sick inside, cold, and wrong.

His eyes rounded, body slumping over as he pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead. "Yuuri, I don't know where to go from here…or even _how to_. I'm lost."

For the first time, the double black chuckled with a hand over his mouth. "I've been feeling that way for years when it comes to you." Without hesitation, he wrapped an arm around the blond's shoulders, knowing full well that the touch would not be spurned. "It's hard, isn't it? To feel like that, I mean…knowing that it's not just your own heart you're dealing with…but, someone else's as well?"

_My heart?_

Hesitantly, the blond rested his head on Yuuri's shoulder. He let him and it felt like some kind of minor miracle—both heavenly and terrifying at once. "Yes… It…It is…" Emerald eyes closed. "But I don't want to change too much or too quickly." He gripped the ring tightly, knuckles white.

The double black smiled, holding Wolfram closer.

"Yeah, me too…"

* * *

When the first arrived by messenger pigeon, he saw it as some kind of insult_. I don't have time for this_ popped into his mind with an annoyed "tch" escaping from his lips. As was his habit, Wolfram shredded and then tossed the "waste of paper" (as he thought of it) into the nearest trash as he exited the arched wooden gates of the moon garden.

When will people see reason? He was the king's after all: body, mind, spirit.

He had forgotten about it until…

The second appeared one week later on his pillow, sealed in red wax. He kept it and three that followed, hiding them with his personal things, mostly due to the fact that they were longer and more detailed about his whereabouts, schedule, and habits.

There was no cause for alarm or concern at the time. However, there was something almost "nagging" about them that he couldn't put into words. Also, Wolfram couldn't guess from the penmanship if the sender was male or female. But some part of him was, indeed, curious.

"Another one," Wolfram growled as he quickly scanned the writing with sharp green eyes. In spite of his familiarity with foolish letters of admiration and appreciation, and only second to his mother's knowledge in similar experiences, the sender had definitely managed to catch Wolfram's full attention—which gnawed at his soul. He glanced at the message again as though the words would change with the third reading.

_Darling:_

_That one comprehends nothing. How can His Majesty pay no heed to the treasure that is Lord Wolfram von Bielefeld? Woe is the man who ignores the table set before him. This royal has a charming demeanor and may utter silky words of kindness, but at what cost? Is it just and honorable for all in kingdom and court to be in celebration with the exception of the brave soul closest to him? Is it right, morally, for an entire Mazoku culture to be safe and joyful at the cost of an individual? Is it acceptable to have one suffer and sacrifice reputation, dignity, and honor? No! That one should suffer! Yuuri Heika should feel the sting, the pain, and regard himself fortunate to have felt anything at all! But, fear not this barrier between us. All will be resolved._

Wolfram was at a loss this time. The writer was getting angrier and more determined with each quickly scrawled letter.

The blond gripped the silver wedding band that he kept on a thin, leather strap around his neck. It had become his habit when stressed. "I won't accept this!" He, then, crushed the heavy, ivory paper between his fingers into a ball and set it ablaze—watching with a little satisfaction as black wisps curled up from his hand.

Quickly calculating it in his head, the letters started to grow determined and obsessive during the first few days of his one month honeymoon. It was a trip that got tongues wagging because Wolfram insisted that they take Greta with them to visit his family's villa in the mountains near von Bielefeld Castle. It seemed more like a winter vacation than a sexy, passionate honeymoon. So, once again, the legitimacy of their relationship was put into question.

Focusing on everything and nothing, the Royal Consort walked on—his mouth quickly thinning to a fine line.

Each time, the messages warned him that Yuuri was a problem. Yuuri didn't care. And, now, it seemed that Yuuri was "a barrier between" them.

_A barrier?_

Yuuri.

_His_ Yuuri.

It made Wolfram's temper flare—the very thought that someone could sneak in, learn his schedule, and leave fanatical notes behind where he'd find them. He shook his head irritably at that.

Wolfram was many things. He was a handsome ex-prince and a high ranking soldier. He was a good father and a painter as well as a lover of fine foods and wines. He had a beautiful steed and was the epitome of the storybook white knight on a horse. Wolfram was now married to The 27th Maou of Shin Makoku and was the pride of his family in Bielefeld for being as such.

But, by far, Wolfram was no fool.

The blond was well aware that his bond with his "legal" husband was still awkward in the best of times and unpleasant in the worst. Some part of it had begun to register, in recent weeks, that he was partially to blame for this outcome—jumping to conclusions of Yuuri cheating on him, throwing tantrums, and grabbing Yuuri roughly to get his attention. As much as he was constantly calling Yuuri a "wimp" and then, in the next moment, straightening out his clothing, brushing non-existent lint off the shoulders and sleeves before an important audience with other nobles, he recognized that what he had really been doing was pushing Yuuri away. And, when he pondered it enough just before falling asleep by his husband's side, Wolfram realized that these qualities, possibly the only ways he knew to show affection and concern with his pride intact, were actually having the opposite effect—driving his double black away from him rather than bringing them closer.

Worse yet, even now, Yuuri still didn't wear his wedding band even though he still had it on him somewhere. Wolfram guessed it was in his pocket or wallet.

And did everyone notice this? Yes.

But, for now, the blond told himself that it was okay. Love, true love—as much as Wolfram openly declared his "affection"—made him feel restless. To let someone inside the thick walls he'd built brick by brick only to have that person cheat or, worse, leave him entirely…?

A flash of memory. Pain. His mother's tears, sliding down her cheeks. Her face wet. Her voice trembling and his father's indifference, turning away from her in a caped flair with purposeful strides matching Waltorana's. How did she live through those times? Now that he was dead, it was easier.

…_But, still… _

Another thought often flickered through his mind—whether or not "love" was actually real in the first place. After all, his mother, uncle, and brothers couldn't find that elusive emotion. All were still single.

And if "hope" was a lie, maybe "love" was, too.

_Maybe…_

Wolfram dusted the grey ash from his fingers, the corners of his mouth arcing downward.

As much as he wanted to change—to take a giant leap and simply talk intimately with Yuuri about this—he couldn't. It might be that he needed to keep behaving in the same way—keeping Yuuri at arm's length because there was no telling where this "mystery writer" was.

Wolfram glanced around. Was it someone in the castle? Or, did this person have an accomplice delivering mail? He put a little more emphasis on the former, he reasoned, because it was disconcerting to think he was being watched every moment of the day.

The maids, servants, and soldiers were one thing (as was the constant eye of Gwendal). But this person wanted something else, something different—something Wolfram didn't want to give.

With a hard frown now, the blond bishonen walked past a guard and instantly stared the new recruit down as he did so. The Mazoku guard, in turn, could feel the sweat moistening his face and underarms—fearing that he'd be blamed for something that would need to have him prove that, yes, he was, indeed, flammable.

Wolfram's attention returned to his ashy hand. He pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket and dusted his palm thoroughly. "This can't continue," he grumbled to himself. "My 'admirer' is definitely getting bolder."

A decade ago, Wolfram was a different person. He used to enjoy empty complements and got many "unusual" letters from the nobility who fancied him. But, since becoming engaged to the Demon King, he had learned to think for himself, to feel deeply, and to do more than simply go through the motions in life. Yuuri made him necessary and gave him a purpose.

Instead of a dressed up doll, Wolfram had become a man.

So, when the silly letters of admiration arrived, as he knew they would, Wolfram simply tossed such unwelcome correspondence into the fire in his small office (AKA his old bedroom) while planning training programs for his private guard and thinking up ways of keeping his flirtatious fiancé under control.

_Why does this bother me? Because these notes are of a different sort? Well, the author, whoever it is, seems to be targeting Yuuri as the sole reason that we can not "be together." Devotee or not, this doesn't sit well with me._

The year before he'd come of age was the last time Wolfram had brought such letters from admirers to Gwendal's attention. (And, Gwendal was only too glad to give his baby brother advice on how to calmly and logically reject someone's advances when they were making them for personal gain and political standing within the court. Wolfram, he explained, should be expected to make the first move in a "friendship" because he was a prince. No exceptions.) Now, once again, the temptation to tell his brother lingered. The messages weren't the run of the mill letters vaguely insulting Yuuri with gentle barbs in order to elevate themselves to a more favorable position. But, running to his brother over this issue was uncomfortable, too.

_Gwendal… Yes? No? Should I really bother him? I'd rather do this on my own and keep my privacy. However…_

Wolfram chewed his lower lip in thought. He might find a way to contact this person, insist upon a meeting, and have a confrontation that would involve threats of fire. Deep down, he prayed that would be enough. But, if it wasn't… "And this whole situation is a trap….?"

"Wolfram!" Yuuri barked from behind him.

The blond jerked and turned around. "Wha-?"

"I just called your name three times and you passed me in the hall like you're ignoring me." He placed his hands on his hips. "So, what did I do this time?" He cocked his head to one side, awaiting an answer. There was deep annoyance in his onyx eyes. The double black didn't have time for guessing games when he was busy trying to avoid Gunther's latest lessons on Mazoku architectural history.

"You…did, huh?" Wolfram said, looking at Yuuri with his mind flashing back to the last message. _A barrier between us…?_

"Yeah, so…?" Yuuri was preparing himself for the tantrum to come. Was he "cheating" by asking the maid for more soap in the baths? Was he "flirting" with someone he'd bumped into in the hall? Was that bruise he got on his neck from sword practice going to be mistaken for a hickey again?

With a distracted expression on his face, Wolfram struggled to pull his thoughts together…and failed. "It's nothing," he said vaguely, as though he were talking to himself. "You're fine." Wolfram turned slowly and continued on his way, adrift within.

"Come on, Wolf," Yuuri called after him. "Let it out. We'll argue and then it will be over by lunchtime…okay?" He was half teasing and half not. Something seemed wrong with the blond and he wasn't sure how to help.

"Ummm…Yuuri?" Wolfram said, turning around with a twist of his hips.

"Yeah?" He cracked a smile. _I knew it._ _Now, he's going to tell me off!_

Wolfram looked at Yuuri and was about to tell him. About to, but… How could he? This was all so stupid. Words on pages with an unknown author and he'd taken them all so seriously. "But…" He bit his lower lip. If he'd never opened those stupid letters, then he wouldn't be having this problem right now.

Onyx eyes smiled._ Oh, I know… I suppose, he saw me talking to the new gardener this morning. He's a nice guy. Then again, there's that friend of Gunter's who is here to do research in the library…oh, and there's the friend of Lady Cheri's, too. I've got cha now, Wolf. And I've got witnesses to everything. So, I'm covered._

"I have some…_things_…I need to think about. So, I won't be coming to bed. I'll be working in my office all night." Wolfram turned back and continued his lonely trek down the hallway, hands politely clasped behind his back. His footfalls echoed.

Yuuri blinked at that. "Oh…okay…" He acted like it didn't bother him. But, from watching the blond walk away, he was certain now that something had gone wrong—something he wasn't telling. "I'll see you at lunch, okay?" he called.

Without looking back, Wolfram made a short gesture of acquiescence and took the next corridor, making a right—eyes just as distant, just as unfocused as before.

"I can't let Yuuri near me… Not until I figure this thing out. Not if being near him means I endanger him. I have to stay away for now."

"What did you say, Wofram?" Conrad said, standing directly in front of him. He leaned forwards to see his younger brother better. Then, his eyebrows knitted in concern. "Are you okay?" he asked with worry edging into his voice. Maybe, Wolfram was sick.

The blond blinked at him as though he'd suddenly materialized out of thin air.

"Can I do something for you?" was asked kindly, smiles in his brown eyes.

Wolfram felt his heart hurt at the question. But he also knew the best answer—the only one that would satisfy him but, at the same time, crush his pride. But, he couldn't be selfish. Not when Yuuri's safety was being questioned. He just couldn't.

"Do me a favor?" Wolfram asked and he could see from Conrad's face that anything, no matter how taxing, would granted.

"Gladly," Conrad said feeling sunny inside that his little brother was requesting something. It didn't happen often.

"Stay close to Yuuri."

Conrad's smile melted away. "Why? What's happened?"

"A feeling," he shrugged back. "Just protect him. Watch over him. All of that…like you usually do." Wolfram ran his fingers through his blond locks covering his eyes as he continued on his way to his office—now turned bedroom again—to decide, to think. "Oh, and Conrad…?"

"Yes?" his brother said quickly, now feeling a protectiveness coursing through him. Wolfram was struggling with something that he wouldn't divulge until he was ready.

"I owe you one," Wolfram said in a hollow tone and continued on his way until he felt a tugging on his wrist holding him back.

"Tell me," was spoken in his ear—determined and deep.

Green eyes looked to him. "No."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

.

"Wolfram," was rasped harshly in his ear—the same way it was said when he was little. But he wasn't a child anymore. That was for sure.

"I said…No!" Wolfram yelled, wrenching his wrist free from Conrad and, in the process, drawing attention from housekeeping servants and castle guards alike at both ends of the corridor. All conversations broke off and they looked to Wolfram to see if this was the beginning of another uncomfortable shouting match with his brother.

Head tilted up defiantly, there was a cold, green fire burning in Wolfram's eyes. But Conrad would never let that stop him. When he needed to, he could be _very persistent_.

"Where are you going, then?" he asked, tall form bending down slightly to get a better look at the blond bishonen.

"My office." He straightened up to his full height, arms at his sides, fists clenched.

Conrad took a breath and let it out. Then, he snatched Wolfram by the wrist again and stepped lively in the right direction. "Back to your _old bedroom_, you mean." He glanced at his brother out of the corner of his eye.

Wolfram, indignant at his treatment, pulled away but found himself being tugged in the direction he'd planned on going all along.

"I'm sure you want to do this the easy way," Conrad went on pleasantly. "The alternative…having you thrown over my shoulder…just might draw more attention than usual. And, it could get back to _everyone_ in the castle." He emphasized "everyone" in the hopes it would sink in that "Yuuri" was included in "everyone."

The person behind him stumbled a few steps, making him look.

Wolfram was now wearing an unusual, almost blank, kind of expression as he gave his surroundings a searching glance. It confused Conrad because his brother never cared before about having an audience for his tantrums and Yuuri was nowhere to be found.

Brown eyes narrowed at it. "Wolf..ra.."

His name snapped Wolfram's mind back to what was going on.

"Conrad!" Wolfram barked half-heartedly, "I-I can walk on my own…thank you VERY LITTLE!" His left leg was a tad slow and he found himself being dragged anyway until an abrupt stop got his face planted firmly into Conrad's back. The pleasantly deep voice said, "Gwendal! Just the person…"

"_Gwendal_?" Wolfram squeaked, peeking out from behind his tall, older brother to look at his stern oldest one.

"What's the problem this time?" the administrator asked darkly. He'd just returned from a trip to the water closet and wasn't in the mood to deal with anything else but compiling, sorting, and distributing the maou's paperwork that kept piling up.

"We have," Conrad said, showing his firm grip on Wolfram's wrist, "a little issue to discuss in Wolfram's _office_."

"Office?"

"Office."

The older man frowned. "You mean his old bedroom?"

"It's an _office_ now," Conrad said with an amused edge.

Wolfram's eyes blazed again. "It's my quarters and I can call it anything that I like."

"Of course," Conrad agreed all too easily but didn't release his hold on Wolfram. "Off we go," he went on—towing Wolfram behind him and, much to the blond's dismay, Gwendal patiently following up the rear.

"Why don't you help me?" the blond complained over his shoulder, giving his arm a tug as he was dragged left into another corridor. His heels left little black scrapes.

"Because I don't want to," Gwendal drawled.

"But…_Brother_!"

"Oh, don't 'But Brother' me…unless you want me to call Mother in on this little tête-à-tête."

Wolfram's green eyes became impossibly wide and rounded. "No! I mean…" He thought about it again. "No-o-o!"

"Then, there you have it," Gwendal said, his tone getting loftier as the door came into view. "Either that or…"

"Or," Wolfram practically choked the word with trepidation.

"Or…I place you on administrative leave…"

Shocked, Wolfram whipped his head in Gwendal's direction as he shoved his key unceremoniously into Conrad's open palm. "Wait! What? Oh, no you don't! You'll do no such thing!" He wagged a finger with his free hand.

The door swung open with a heavy groan and, almost instantly, Wolfram found himself being yanked inside cruelly by his arm.

"Just watch me," Gwendal said as he closed the door behind them.

"But, I'm the Prince Consort!" muffled from inside the room.

A Gwendal growl answered, "Then, act like it!"

* * *

_Darling:_

_I have witnessed countless acts of cruelty against you by The Demon King. How you have managed to withstand such agony is beyond this simple lover. Only this morning did I view him in The Royal Gardens with that spineless interloper, von Christ. How can you withstand these attentions thrust upon your husband's every encounter with the man? Why does His Majesty not simply explain that these embraces and brazen exclamations of affection are unwanted? But, fear not… They are not like you and I, my love, for we will escape these bonds for far greater ones. We will come together when the time is right and flee to a haven no one may follow. _

_Wait for that time and wait for me._

The messenger carrying the letter to the castle was a little girl who'd been paid in candy and a silver coin for her parents hung heavily in her tiny pocket. Surely, the guards at the gate would take the letter. The old derelict in the village who'd given it to her said to smile sweetly. And any child with both front teeth missing was a joy to behold. So, she handed the letter over with a broad smile to the nearest Mazoku guard, a man with five children back home, who gladly took the letter.

* * *

She tapped a finger against the table with concentration, not unlike the same look Wolfram would give under the same circumstance. He just couldn't get out of his head how much his daughter and his husband—and he was till getting used to the word "husband"—were alike. Yuuri smiled at Greta as she made her move. The two of them were in Greta's new room—decorated in pinks and purples by Lady Cheri. It was just the right room for a young lady who needed a bit of peace and quiet from the rest of the castle. The more secluded spot (which had, previously, been an elaborate sewing room) was fine for the teen. No more accidentally overhearing Wolfram bellow "Wimp!" in the night followed by words he'd blush if he only knew she learned them from him.

"This place is nice," Yuuri said happily, picking up a piece of alexandrite and pushing it three spaces to the left with the tip of his finger. In this game, purple stones could only move a maximum of three squares per turn.

"It sure is," Greta returned, pushing a rectangular piece of rose quartz one space forward. The stone was the same color as the pillows on her canopy bed, all draped in silks.

"Have you…Have you seen much of Wolfram lately?" he asked hesitantly, but felt like he was checking up on the proud Mazoku.

Greta shrugged a little bit. "Seen…_how_?" She tucked an unruly strand of hair behind her left ear as she studied the white game board with black squares. "We did have a morning snack together before he went back to writing his book."

"Book?" Yuuri blinked curiously at that.

Greta quirked a grin. Sometimes, she just could not understand her fathers.

"Um…he's writing a training manual using the Royal Library. That's how he's spending his afternoons these days." Greta's eyes sparkled a little when she added, "It's such a neat project and he's even doing all of the artwork and illustrations himself."

Yuuri's grin grew shaky as he started to imagine all of the hideous, misshapen images. What was supposed to be "soldiers" could easily be mistaken for bear-bees with broken wings or stick figures gone horribly, horribly wrong. Maybe, the reason why Wolfram couldn't paint and Gwendal couldn't get a knitted figure right was genetic? He'd have to ponder it a little more to see if Conrad failed in art, too.

"He's quite good," Greta went on, "the illustrations of swords… and soldiers in those fighting stances, I mean. Wanna see? He gave me a few sketches."

Yuuri laughed nervously with a hand behind his head. He didn't need more trouble where the blond was concerned. "I'd…uh…rather finish our game of Jewels' Crusade." He eyed the shimmering rock in his hand and was certain that it was, indeed, a blue and white diamond.

Greta rolled a bloodstone between her thumb and forefinger. "Yuuri, can I ask you a question?" She cocked her head cutely to one side. She tried to keep a smile on her face.

The double black nodded at her. There was nothing that Greta could ask that would be a bother to him. "Go ahead."

"Well…I know that you and Wolfram got married by accident and everything…but…" She looked to him, plucking up the courage somehow. "You don't really love him, do you?"

Yuuri's face fell at that. He'd always assumed she'd say the opposite. Hoped for it so that they'd be a family someday.

"It's fine," she sighed heavily after the silence that followed began to stretch on. Feeling awkward, she moved a piece of lapis one space backward. "It's just that…"

"Just what?" Yuuri could barely utter the words. In his lap, he was holding a piece of tiger's eye in the palm of his shaking hand.

"My Coming of Age party will be here before I know it and I…" That unruly curl was coming back to tickle her face again. "I just don't…" She frowned up at Yuuri, trying to phrase it as best she could. "In the future, I don't…I mean I…" Greta fidgeted. "…An engagement to someone…to someone I don't want and never will. In other words…

_In other words…_ Yuuri blinked.

"I don't want to be like you."

* * *

Yuuri walked down towards his chambers as though waking from a bad dream. Greta had told him more than he expected. There really was such as thing as "too much truth." He could still hear her say, "You're not even wearing your wedding ring. Everyone knows. I mean, they can see it, can't they? What the two of you are really like together, I mean…? But, you're friends and that's still good. When you tell him, it will break his heart…but he'll get through it. He's strong."

Yuuri lowered his head and shoved his right hand in his pocket—feeling the gold band and pushing his thumb through the hole as he went; toying with it.

_I understand what you're saying, Greta, but you don't realize… I can't let go of Wolfram. And I don't want anything to change. I want to be together, just like this, and keep the life that I have now. I've lived in Shin Makoku long enough to know that I have it good—a fantastic daughter, loyal advisors, and friends. Most of all, I have Wolfram by me, telling me the way things are and how to do them right without embarrassing myself. He isn't always very trusting, but that's okay. It leaves me free to trust openly. And if I fall, he'll fall with me. I won't be alone or abandoned in this life. And the only way I ever will be is… if I mess up and make it that way. _

_Make him leave me… _

Yuuri hung his head.

_I think Wolfram wants the same thing I do: a happy life. Together. _

His eyes started to water. He rubbed his nose absently.

_The problem was never him; it was always me. And if my relationship with Wolfram dies, the person to blame will be me. Stupid, weak, "me."_

"Ah, Yuuri Heika," came a silky voice to his right. Surprised, Yuuri lifted his head.

* * *

Wolfram was tossed lightly onto the foot of his bed. Looking up, he could see both older brothers glowering down at him with hands resting on hips.

"You'll tell us everything you know, Wolfram," Gwendal said, the interrogation starting immediately.

"Gwendal!" he growled back in his brattiest tone, arms folded defensively across his chest.

"It would really behoove you to do it," Conrad chimed in with an overly polite smile crossing his lips. Wolfram wasn't fooled, though. It was all horribly fake.

"Hmph!"

Conrad eyed the silver ring dangling from the leather strap at Wolfram's neck. "You told me to watch over your husband," he began. "Knowing that I would do that anyway, why would you ask?"

"I'm sorry I did." He crossed his ankles to get more comfortable. He'd be here awhile by the looks of things.

Gwendal narrowed his eyes. "What? No jealousy? No 'Yuuri is mine, hands off' or anything along those lines?"

"Not a word," Conrad answered with a finger scratching his cheek as he thought back on it. Then, he turned to Wolfram. "Maybe, I've never made myself absolutely clear on this subject. And, probably, I should have long ago. My interest in Yuuri…" he began and noted a spark of fear in green eyes. It all seemed so inane to Conrad. "…Was never anything beyond godfather. I'd never be so cruel as to try to separate the two of you. And, while he is my king…" He ruffled Wolfram's blond hair briefly. "…You are my little brother."

For only one beat of his heart did Wolfram look up at Conrad's brown eyes. And, in that moment, Wolfram was a small child again with the same expression he always held when his mother went far away on a trip.

Conrad sat on the bed next to Wolfram, shoulder pressed against shoulder. "So, what is it? Truthfully? We're here to help you and we know it has something to do with _your_ husband." He emphasized the "your" part for a reason.

On Wolfram's opposite side, Gwendal took a seat with his arms folded. "I'm not clear on the details…but I do care…as well." He coughed into his fist and glanced away, the long ponytail in the back swished and Wolfram batted it away as he used to in the days before he got too big to sit on Brother's lap.

The blond leaned forward and rested his forearms on his thighs, expression melting into something pensive. "The letters are starting to get to me. But, I'm not feeble!" He flashed his eyes at Gwendal. "And I'm not weak-willed," he glanced at Conrad.

"Letters?" Gwendal narrowed his eyebrows at that.

"From…whom…?" Conrad wrapped an arm around Wolfram's shoulders, which was easily shrugged off. A warning glare was given to the tall, brunette man giving him the "Didn't I just tell you I'm not weak?" vibe. But, then, in the next second, all of Wolfram's frustration drained away with the image of a naïve, smiling Yuuri in his head.

Wolfram hated himself. What if he made a mistake now? What if he was about to? One wrong move and an opportunity open to the enemy would be all it would take.

"I…I don't know…" He slouched forward, hands covering his face. "But, I…"

Gwendal narrowed his eyes as he watched his brother. "From an admirer again? You've had those problems before. But, I believed things got better once you became engaged to Yuuri Heika."

"They're not those kinds of letters…_exactly_." Wolfram shut his eyes in exhaustion as he took his hands away.

"They're not…what?" Gwendal felt uncomfortable as a thousand scenarios played out in his head. "Then, exactly what kind are they?"

"Kind of…_Personal_?" Wolfram hinted.

"You mean…?" Gwendal looked scandalized.

Green eyes widened in understanding. "Oh, no! It's not like that entirely. Though, the writer did, somehow, now that I frequent The Maou's Bath and what scented shampoo I use, the color of my towel…which side of Yuuri's bed I sleep on." His voice got quieter near the end.

"Do you have any of these letters?" Conrad asked him carefully as to not upset the blond further.

"I stared to burn them, but…for some reason…I've kept a number of them." He glanced to Gwendal. "It's not like I can't handle myself, I just…"

The administrator stood up, offering a hand to his youngest brother. "Take us to them."

Wolfram's lower jaw opened a little. "Wha-? Now?"

The hand was still there as was the order to get up. But the blond didn't move. Gwendal threw a glance to Conrad, got a nod, and they both took an arm. Wolfram was lifted up on his feet

"I don't want to…" He shook his head.

"Tell me, Wolfram," Gwendal said with a stern voice coming to him—the kind he reserved for Mazoku Army military drills and exercises—"is there even the most remote possibility that Yuuri Heika is being threatened?"

The look on Wolfram's face was the answer. Of course, he was. Otherwise, why would Wolfram even care?

"Damn it!" Gwendal cursed under his breath.

Conrad sighed at them both and put a hand to his head. This was one of those times when it was best to keep silent.

* * *

Peeking through the trees, the sun was sinking lower—stretching long shadows against the thick grass across from The Royal Greenhouse. Late as it was in the day, Wolfram needed to get away from everyone. He glanced at a window set up high over his right shoulder. It was Gwendal's office. He wondered, briefly, if the man was still sitting there behind his desk. Wolfram could just imagine Gwendal perusing with a deepening scowl over the small stack of letters that had been tied together with a thin piece of hemp string.

_Maybe, it's for the best. Maybe, just maybe, Brother can figure out something that I missed. It was stupid of me to burn some of the letters, though. A vital clue might have gone up in smoke_.

A shiver ran through Wolfram as he scanned his surroundings. No one. He was alone…or, at least, he thought so.

_Good… and let it stay that way._

But, then, he felt it—a presence. There was someone with him.

The blond glanced at the greenhouse—a contained place made up of glass. No, that would not be wise and he wouldn't have enough room to fight if he needed to. Turning, he made his way for the back end of the garden. People usually frequented the place. But, with preparations going on for dinner, he guessed that most of the castle was getting ready for the evening meal.

He walked off, turning his head casually as he went. Again, there seemed to be no one. But, his instincts said otherwise.

The Wolfram thought he caught a glimpse of a moving shadow, but he could have been wrong. (And the last thing he needed was to look ridiculous by stabbing a tree limb.)

With a hand on the hilt of his sword, Wolfram continued on. He passed both low and high hedges with tall shadows spreading out. And shrubby plants greeting him as the wind blew against them.

The castle began to shrink in the background. He would have turned in the direction of home had it not been the fact that the presence seemed to stand in the way of that safety.

He moved on. And, still, the presence followed. As a soldier, he'd been trained to feel it and then strike accordingly.

_Where can I…? _His head turned left and right.

There was a grotto where he used to play "fort" when he was a child. It was very private and he'd hidden there often when he was mad at his Mother for insisting on vegetables with meals. It was tucked away with a canopy of cascading pink, thornless roses. The blond made his way for it. That would be the place where he would deal with the intruder. Only, this time, it would be a real life ambush.

Just as always, there was a long rose hedge leading to the cave-like structure of the grotto. The maou who ruled four hundred years ago had ordered it to be built on the whim of his second illegitimate daughter who fancied tiny pink flowers.

Wolfram glanced around himself casually. Still no one. With the back of his hand, the blond lifted the cascading flowers and stepped inside. At his full height, there was still a foot of room above his head. The greenery hung down in awkward, but sweet smelling, wiry canes.

And, then, the shadow appeared. _A leg. No, two._

Wolfram narrowed his eyes at the spot on the grass as he quietly unsheathed his sword, having to crook his arm at an unnatural angle in order to do it. He could hear muffled footfalls on the grass. A pause. And then, there was another.

"Damn it," he hissed lowly under his breath.

Wolfram could feel his heart pounding against his ribs and his warrior's blood singing to him. It was necessary and he would strike without mercy if the person was armed.

In a flash, Wolfram appeared outside the grotto with a sword aimed at Yuuri's chest.

"Y-Yuuri?" Emerald eyes widened at the discovery.

"Wolfram?" the double black managed to screech, not only shocked that the blond appeared out of thin air but at the green eyes that had spelled "death" so clearly only a second ago.

"Yuuri, what are you…?" Wolfram felt it again. His eyes darted to the left and right. This wasn't the presence he'd sensed earlier. His husband. No, this one had the feeling of a hunter, and Yuuri's always had the feeling of "joyful anticipation."

A twig snapped.

With little effort, he grabbed Yuuri around the wrist and pulled him into the grotto with him.

"Wolfram, I…?" Yuuri began as the blond held his sword so that the tip barely touched the curtain of cascading roses—ready to draw blood at a moment's notice. He shot a "shut up" glare at Yuuri while he was at it.

Immediately, another shadow appeared on the grass in front of the grotto. The darkness waved slightly as though it couldn't decide its next move.

"Wol -?" Yuuri began but found himself suddenly against the side of the wall with Wolfram's body pressing in. Forcefully, Wolfram had cupped his left hand tightly over Yuuri's mouth. Onyx eyes bulged at him and the body suddenly went rigid. Yuuri's betrayed and fearful look was enough to dishearten the blond Mazoku soldier. Apparently, it didn't take much physical intimacy laced with aggression, no matter the circumstances, to terrify.

_I know! I know, Yuuri. I get it. I've understood this all along. Why could you never see that?_

The look cut into him and forced its way inside.

_And no more 'You would never hurt me' speeches. I hate it when you lie to yourself._

Compounding the problem from the danger outside, the blond had another difficulty. In fact, it was a rather _personal_ one. Yuuri and Wolfram were close—very close. And he had to ignore the soft, warm breaths caressing his palm. Wolfram's palms, as with all fire wielders, were erogenous zones and it was killing him to have his left palm pressed against Yuuri's lips. If the double black even tried to lick his lips at this point, the blond wasn't sure if he could hold back—something that would reinforce all of Yuuri's phobias.

_Damn it, Yuuri… _

Wolfram swallowed hard and closed his eyes briefly as Yuuri released another warm breath.

"Someone," Wolfram mouthed the word and he gestured to the grass beyond them with his eyes.

Snapping out of it, Yuuri followed his meaning and saw the shadow. "Oh, so that's it," was written on his expression and he inexplicably, from Wolfram's perspective, relaxed. And, in the next moment, it became clear exactly why. This castle was home to the double black, and he was naïve enough to believe that he was perfectly safe.

It was Wolfram who had the problem.

The shadow on the grass continued to search. And, at one point, it seemed to be regarding the grotto.

With slow and determined movements, Wolfram repositioned his body against Yuuri—now making himself a protective shield. There wasn't much room (and his arm was beginning to ache with the sword in hand), but he'd be able to still block any advances toward Yuuri should a sword suddenly stab its way into the mouth of the grotto.

Like leading a dance, he forced Yuuri to make small, quiet movements in the right positions. Then, Wolfram's body continued to gently wrap itself around the precious burden.

Keeping him quiet.

Keeping him safe.

They remained like that for a time—molded together, barely breathing.

As the shadow moved away, with the sound of muffled footsteps, Wolfram heaved a sigh of relief and rested his head on Yuuri's shoulder. His hand slipped away from his husband's mouth. And the other hand now lowered the sword.

"Are you okay, Wolfram?" Yuuri whispered to him.

Not thinking, Wolfram's arm found its way around Yuuri's waist and squeezed his husband against himself for a second. "The important part is that…you're safe. That's all that matters." His head still rested heavily on Yuuri's shoulder as the adrenaline rush consumed him. He had been ready to fight for their lives and his body still shook with need. And, of course, there was no way Yuuri would understand that. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "Is it okay if we stay like this for a minute longer?" He rubbed his face into the side of Yuuri's neck. It tickled. But, to the blond's surprise, Yuuri's hands went to his back, rubbing against it soothingly in slow, deep circles.

"Anything you want…"

Instead of being comforted, he cringed.

_What I want…is to not be selfish anymore. What I want…is for you to stay alive…even if it means shredding my soul to do it._

"I'll protect you…always, Yuuri." The words were whispered as though it had always been a secret between them. He gave a warm hug with the scent of summer—of sunflowers—filling the double black's senses.

"Yeah, I know."

* * *

Instead of eating dinner, Wolfram ordered that his horse be saddled. He left openly, making sure that as many people as possible watched him leave. On the way to dinner, Greta stopped him and asked if he was coming, too, or had he "gotten into another argument with Yuuri?" Wolfram gave the usual assuring smile that he had more than enough practice using and told her he was going to Shinou's Temple to seek out the sage.

There were slight murmurs in the hallway. Yes, they'd heard. There were a few faces he didn't recognize but that was fine. They all knew and, soon, Yuuri and his family would know as well.

Wolfram gave Greta a slight wave as he left for the stables. Along the way, he'd patted himself on the back for the skillful way he'd done it.

After all of that work, the ride was short and uneventful. Wolfram couldn't decide if that was a good or bad thing. He didn't have the sense of being followed or the kind of desperation—almost blood lust—that had come after him earlier. He was grateful for that. But, as the temple loomed in the distance, Wolfram felt a weight coming upon him, pressing him down.

It was common knowledge that Wolfram tried his best to put some distance between himself and The Great Sage of Shin Makoku. There was something between them—an awkwardness—that he couldn't get a grasp on and didn't know how to make disappear. Even for Yuuri's sake, and he'd asked Wolfram more than once "to be nice," Wolfram just couldn't make it happen. Still, in this case, Wolfram would do his best to ignore the feeling. And, hopefully, Murata would have some advice for him. Yes, his older brothers now knew what was up—to a certain degree, at least. But the worst of the letters, the most insulting ones, had been burned to a crisp.

The blond sighed to himself, now being able to make out the gate to the temple. This was not going to be a pleasant conversation. And, in all likelihood, the sage would be his usual, mind numbingly annoying and secretive self.

* * *

Green eyes squinted at the person a few feet ahead of him. There was a petit, brunette shrine maiden waiting patiently by the front gate with a pleasant smile on her face. He'd wondered, briefly, how long she'd been standing there. Wolfram would have asked, but it was only a minor, passing thought. Mentally, he shrugged it off. He wasn't here for pleasantries.

As politeness dictated, Wolfram nodded to her and then got down from his white steed—giving his prized horse a calming pat on the nose before moving on.

Being here and waited on… It felt awkward. This wasn't exactly what he was banking on when he chose to come here.

Not saying a word, the shrine maiden took the steed as another woman, much taller and with red hair, opened the door. She invited him in with a simple gesture to which Wolfram gave another nod.

_These greetings are not by accident. Did The Great Sage know I was coming? If so, how?_

Two guards, leaning somewhat casually but armed with spears, flanked the entrance and whispered across to each other in low tones. Not so secretively, their eyes followed Wolfram's lithe form as it passed.

The eyes were still on him, burning into his back. He could feel it. Being watched bothered him—maybe more so because of the letters. It wasn't as though he grew up out of the spotlight. He'd always been the "golden child" and the center of attention. At one point, back when he was 20, he'd tried to convince a tutor—who kept too close an eye on him and never let up—that he, and not the sun, was the center of the universe. Wolfram had even conjured up balls of fire as a demonstration to prove his point. Sadly, his tutor was also a fire wielder and created a fire snake that ate all of the rotating orbs he'd created. Following that, Wolfram just refused to study anything at all until he got a new tutor—which he did.

Keeping his head held high, the Prince Consort passed shrine maidens moving to and fro. And, like a well choreographed dance, one woman traded places with another. So, now, he was following a shrine maiden with auburn hair and lavender eyes.

"This way," she said, opening a doorway leading to a large chamber within the temple that Wolfram had never seen before. The blond took a cautious step forward, stopped, and turned to where she was standing. His fingers, naturally, went to the strap around his neck and fingered the silver ring. "In here? Wait, but I…" The blond tried to explain but his escort had already disappeared down the next corridor. "I came to see The Great Sage," he said to nobody. His arms flopped down at his sides in exasperation.

_These women are impossible!_ he thought as he stepped in.

Now gazing at the room, the blond could see water rushing from the ceiling. In fact, Wolfram could make out _two_ waterfalls pouring into a deep, blue-tiled basin filled with seven orange and white kohaku koi fish with an additional fish, a black butterfly koi, hiding in the back corner giving the newcomer a wary look with its dark eyes. Not pleased with the direct stare, it swished its tail and took off in the search for more food at the bottom. The rest of the room was plain with the exception of a finely embroidered linen-covered altar and wall sconces burning candles carrying a heavy, pumpkin-spice scent.

The smell was wonderful, though—just like a certain rich, iced-sugar cake Wolfram adored as a child. It filled his senses and made the room seem comfortable, relaxing. He took a deep breath.

Another.

He put a hand to his head.

_Almost… too much._

"Well, I think you'll talk to me," came from a hazy shadow forming next to the altar. And Wolfram bit on his lower lip, straightening himself and steadying himself as he met eye to eye.

"Shinou Heika," Wolfram said with reverence, head dipping low. His leather strap with the ring dangled briefly.

Wolfram may not have always liked the dominating spirit, but showing disrespect was asking for trouble on a silver platter. Unlike Yuuri, Shinou was a trickster by nature and "Payback" was a name he often went by.

"Lord Wolfram," was said pleasantly and with expectation. But, there was a strange edge to his blue eyes—as though all the young man who stood before him would have to do is simply remain as he was. Do nothing.

"Ah…yes…" Wolfram glanced at the ancient stone floor, collecting himself, trying to find the appropriate words to explain with dignity and self-respect. He'd never had a problem with this before, expressing himself. Then again, he'd never had an issue like this. And he wasn't entirely sure that his brothers could help. Therefore, The Great Sage was his next choice, not Shinou. And, certainly, not being alone with the spirit right now.

"You have a…_problem_? Am I correct?" With a gallant shake of his blond locks, Shinou took a step closer to the younger man. "Well, technically, you have multiple difficulties with your current lifestyle situation. But, there's only one issue pressing enough to come here."

Wolfram glanced up into what had become surprisingly hard, blue eyes. "Yes…sir. One could say that." And, with that answer, all thoughts of meeting Murata fled his mind. For, now that they were standing so closely together, it suddenly occurred to Wolfram that their faces—their bodies, in fact—looked so much alike, it was unsettling. But, it was more than that. The consort told himself it was because the two of them were alone. And the previous times he'd been with the spirit were times when Shinou had taken advantage and caused more than enough trouble for everyone to deal with.

"And I just _did_," Shinou said, flipping his extravagantly over-designed cape against one shoulder. "Needless to say, your beauty has found a way to complicate things between yourself and your new husband." He scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Now, do you go by 'Prince Consort' or 'Royal Consort' now?"

Hearing those words, something in Wolfram's heart snapped.

"Husband? We were _never_ supposed to be married in the first place," the young blond growled in a frustrated undertone. "It was _never_ supposed to go that far. We'd all agreed. But, then, the ceremony kept going on…and on. When I realized it, I told myself that the assassins would make their move just before the kiss...and…"

"I'm sure the people you captured at the wedding ceremony have been of no help…?" There was a winning smile and Shinou disappeared from where he stood before the blond young man only to reappear, eerily, beside him. Involuntarily, Wolfram took a step away. Shinou was close again, almost hovering.

"Well…_yes_," the Royal Consort said harshly to cover up his uneasy feelings. Wolfram forced his shoulders back. "In spite of the fact that they tried to kill him, Yuuri refuses to allow the traditional interrogation techniques other than simply locking the prisoners up in the stuffy dungeon to await trial."

"He is merciful," Shinou baited and enjoyed Wolfram rolling his eyes at that. The young Mazoku was fun to tease and he took great pleasure in it. "So, what have you come to ask?" the spirit said, getting to the point.

"Oh...yes." Wolfram felt foolish. He'd forgotten himself. "I had come here to ask The Great Sage about some…_letters_…I'd been receiving. I wanted to know the best way to handle them." Then, he clasped his hands behind his back as another wave of _something_ assaulted his senses. Lips parted dumbly, the young blond dug in his nails hard until the sensation passed. "But, I…suspect," Wolfram forcing himself to go on, pupils widening, "that you already know about them…somehow."

There was a shrug and a twirl of a cape's edge. "I learn about things from different sources."

Wolfram squeezed his hands together. Here was his chance to ask the all-knowledgeable Shinou, but he felt so strange—so out of focus. "Then, if I may, might I be able to ask your opinion on the method to deal with…"

"The person stalking you and Yuuri Heika?" Shinou asked almost innocently.

Yes, he knew. Shinou always knew when things involved his favorite king and his direct (not to mention thunderous, loyal, opinionated, and obnoxious) descendant who shared his face.

The young blond muttered an uncomfortable "yes" vaguely. Following, Wolfram straightened to his full height and lifted his chin. "I would do anything…if it kept Yuuri safe…"

Shinou's smile was crooked. He tilted his head as Wolfram staggered, pressing the heel of his hand to his forehead. "Any…_thing_…" He couldn't grasp onto the next thought, to the next moment. And his knees buckled—sending him directly to the stone floor as Murata ventured into the room, not even having time to address anyone.

Wolfram was lying there—emerald eyes open but seeing nothing. His mind blank; his body limp in a curved, almost fetal position.

"What happened?!" Murata demanded, gathering up the young blond into his arms with difficulty. He tilted the head back but it was more like holding a doll filled with sand—simply dead weight—and it took a great deal of effort to keep from shouting in a panic at Shinou once the corner of Wolfram's lip started to bleed. A thin blood trail made its way down to the chin.

"Oi! Von Bielefeld! Wake up," Murata Ken ordered, patting the right cheek with the palm of his hand rapidly. The body sagged again, making the sage struggle to keep a grip. With another attempt, Murata managed to bring Wolfram up against his chest, cradling him. "We've got to do something," he continued when Shinou didn't make a move, "…call the temple's healer, Egeria."

"I could try. Do you want me to?" was asked quietly as he observed the pair on floor by his feet with a sense of detachment.

"Shinou, you're being impossible! Of course, I do," came from between grinding teeth.

"Then, place him on the altar."

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

.

The door to the fountain room opened with a _slam_ as Gwendal, Conrad, and, following up the rear, Yuuri entered. (Though, the sage noted to himself that the brothers came in with more of a "trudge" and Yuuri with "curiosity" as the sudden change in temperature and dampness met with his skin.)

"We got your message," Gwendal stated matter-of-factly to hide concern before his eyes could even adjust to the dimly lit room. "Where is he?"

From where he stood, two meters before the altar, Murata turned with a slight interest toward the trio. When he sent the messenger pigeon to Gwendal earlier on, he was curious to see who would care enough to come with him. There were no surprises here, though. The sage glanced at the eldest brother out of the corner of his eye as he approached the wide, ornate altar with a beam of blue-white light spilling atop it from a stained glass window in the ceiling set into an angle to blend in with the pitched roof.

The linen covered altar that had graced the structure earlier had been removed—revealing the four ornate swords that were mounted into the sides. On top, lying on a thin mattress of goose down, was a single form dressed loosely in white robes.

It was Wolfram.

With the twin waterfalls pouring gently into the blue-tiled basin as a backdrop, Murata unfurled a handkerchief with a single shake and approached the frail bishonen. "He's here…as you can see."

"Why is he here?" Conrad asked with worry clearly evidenced in his voice.

"Because…he needed to come…"

The three of them crowded around Wolfram—Conrad, Murata, and Gwendal to the right and Yuuri across from them. His black eyes were wide, taking in the body before him.

Wolfram seemed to be made of alabaster with lackluster blond hair and exposed skin (both arms and bare legs) that would be cool to the touch from exposure to the room. Wolfram's wedding ring was still on its leather strap around his neck but had slid away from his chest and rested against his right shoulder. The simple, silver ring had a sparkle to it—the way that rings somehow do in jewelry stores but never anywhere else. That thought struck Yuuri briefly, but he didn't voice it, thinking that now was not the time.

Gwendal turned to Murata with a scowl. "Wolfram should be in the infirmary where your healer can help him!"

Murata shook his head "no" vaguely. Leaning forward with the handkerchief, he brushed one end under Wolfram's right eye where a tear shined down. "That isn't possible. Shinou says that if we remove him from this room…he'll die."

"What?!" Yuuri practically choked out the word. "He was perfectly fine the last time I saw him." Onyx eyes turned to Gwendal and then Conrad. Was it his imagination or did he see doubt in their expressions? "He was! I'm serious."

The sage shook his head. "No…he wasn't…" Murata dabbed at the eye as he continued. "It was only by some miracle that Wolfram decided to come here…"

Disbelieving, Gwendal folded his arms against his chest. "You mean, Shinou Heika…" He glanced around the room "…_influenced_ Wolfram to come."

Murata shrugged and glanced away. "It's possible."

"Well, I can't believe that Shinou Heika would hurt Wolfram in any way," Yuuri defended. Throwing in his two cents' worth somehow helped him as did watching Conrad as the man took hold of Wolfram's hand.

"Agreed," Murata sighed heavily, arms now folded against one side of the altar. He leaned on it. To Yuuri, it wasn't all that different from the way Murata Ken leaned on the dining table at his house while waiting for "Mama's curry." Murata kept his dark eyes on Wolfram. "Shinou may be maddening, irritating, bothersome, exasperating, and intrusive…" His voice trailed off when he added "pompous ass." Then, he straightened his back. "But, Shinou does…truly…" He glanced at the pale face again that so closely resembled Shinou back when he was alive and younger. "He cares for Wolfram…deeply…in a way that he cares for no one else."

Conrad raised a skeptical eyebrow but, upon seeing a sincere look from Murata, he decided that such emotional attachment by the ancient was, indeed, possible or maybe "plausible" would have been a better word for it.

On the opposite side, Yuuri took Wolfram's cold hand and held it. If he concentrated, he could feel some warmth to it. There was a surge…a strange kind of pulse… _It's his fire element_, Yuuri guessed but could think of no reason why he should know that. "What happened to him," Yuuri asked, determined to know. Accusations were getting them nowhere.

"Your _husband_," Murata began and watched expressionlessly as Yuuri squirmed a little at the word, "was directed to this holy, mystic room by Shinou and the shrine maidens…a special place for certain things." Their eyes met. "_Husband_, I said." Yuuri did it again and ran his fingers through his hair nervously with his free hand. But, then, much to the double black king's surprise, Murata's face hardened as he looked to Yuuri. "He is your husband now, Shibuya, and I suggest you accept it. He belongs to you."

Yuuri still held Wolfram's hand but lowered his head at his friend's truthful words.

Murata continued with "Though, I suspect that his marriage to you will be little more than a continuance of his engagement… But, most likely, he will accept this arrangement…the way he accepts you…without fully comprehending you or the reasons why you behave the way you do. Our Wolfram von Bielefeld believes that if he models the behavior of 'acceptance' and 'tolerance'…the very ideals you profess to embrace…you will, in turn, change and accept this marriage and him. It's a fool's errand and an arrogant one…the idea that 'my love can change him.' But, he has no other option than to try it."

Yuuri narrowed his eyebrows. "You're acting like this is all my fault."

Murata nodded. "In a way…it is." He fished into his pocket for something. "You should take responsibility."

The young maoh frowned at that. "What are you talking about?"

Murata's glasses gleamed briefly and he said, "As I've said before… If you remove Wolfram von Bielefeld from this dias…from this room… He will die in your arms before you can get him to Gissela. But, you had a hand in this…even if it was an unknowing one."

"Why?" Yuuri asked as a letter was thrust to him.

"Be careful when you unfold it. Touch the corners only."

Yuuri stepped closer to a wall sconce and tried to ignore the spicy scent of the candle as he read the words in beautifully scripted Mazoku characters. "_Darling, I have witnessed countless acts of cruelty against you by The Demon King. How you have managed to withstand such agony is beyond this simple lover."_

"Lover?" Conrad uttered, eyes widening as he peered over his godson's shoulder. He had joined Yuuri in reading the letter.

Gwendal approached on the other side. "Not another letter," he groaned again. "When did he receive this one?"

"I see…von Bielefeld informed you…" Murata stated flatly but his head was tilted to one side out of curiosity.

"In my office, I have several of these… _fanatical_ letters that Wolfram has kept," Gwendal said, sour expression coming to him again. He hovered his finger over the words "acts of cruelty" and went on, "Obviously, this person is still watching Wolfram from somewhere within the castle."

"Be careful with that!" Murata shouted and then blinked at his own outburst. "Forgive me…but…the green ink is poison."

"Poison?!" Yuuri gasped, dropping the letter to the floor. It fluttered down to his feet. The edges chipped and bits broke off like hand-torn confetti.

"Yes… It is…" The sage turned to Gwendal. "And, if you've been handling the letters, brushing your fingers against the green ink…it would behoove you to visit with the temple's healer, Egeria, before you leave." Murata approached his king, reached down, and gently folded the letter back along the crease lines. He touched the right corner, picking it up with a thumb and forefinger. "It's a slow-acting poison…probably meant to weaken von Bielefeld. But, the problem was that he'd kept the letters and repeatedly exposed himself to the toxin by rereading. The author of the messages probably never thought of that."

"But, the letter looks so old and faded," Conrad observed. "It can't possibly be recent."

Murata nodded. "It should look exactly this way. This environment is both 'healing' and 'holy'. So, poisons and toxins are neutralized in this atmosphere. Thus, the faded writing on the page and paper that seems to flake apart too easily."

"But, now…?" Conrad asked, turning back to his baby brother.

"The shrine maidens have stripped him of his clothing and burned it. He's been bathed in holy water, herbs, and oils…especially his hands. Our healer, Egeria, has been seeing to him…pouring in healing magic when needed."

"Needed?" Yuuri breathed the question which made Murata uncomfortable enough to stroll back to the altar to look at Wolfram.

"Yes…_needed_…" He forced his voice to sound neutral. After being a sage for centuries, he'd learned that skill all too well.

Yuuri approached him as though he were living in a bad dream. "Why would he…?" No, that wasn't the right question. "What happened to him?"

Murata's look confirmed that he was hiding something.

"Tell me," Yuuri said, approaching his friend and tugging on his black sleeve for emphasis.

"Not long after I sent the message to come here…"

Onyx met onyx. Eyes locked.

"You see…umm…von Bielefeld's heart… _stopped_…" Murata tried not to cringe as he pushed out the sight in his mind of Wolfram writhing on the altar, clutching his chest and screaming high-pitched in agony. It was a sound that he knew would haunt him into the next life. Murata had to restrain him, hold him down, before he fell. He was the only other one in the room.

Green, sightless eyes were in such agony.

"But, he's okay now…right?" The double black king said, going back and gripping his husband's hand with his own and then straightening the ring and strap around Wolfram's neck—placing the silver ring so that it rested over the blond's heart.

"To keep him alive, we had to…"

Yuuri's face hardened as he turned to his friend again. "To do…what?"

On the dias, Wolfram's eyes opened slightly—half moons, seeing nothing.

"Wolfram?" Yuuri said with relief before he noticed it.

One eye was emerald green and one eye was blue.

The eyes slipped shut; more tears fell.

Yuuri's jaw dropped as did everyone's in the room with the exception of Murata who took a defensive stance. This would be a hard sell.

"Shinou?" Yuuri practically shouted.

"We had to," Murata tried to explain and came off a little louder than he'd planned. "We had to keep him alive. He must have been feeling the effects of the poison for awhile now and dismissed them for depression, upset stomach, and a variety of other things."

"So, now, we have two souls in one body," Gwendal stated with a grimace.

"For now," Murata agreed, "he isn't alone. But the bigger question is… Who did this to him?"

* * *

"Where am I?"

"Does it matter?"

There was a soft, seeping warmth around Wolfram and he could feel himself as though sitting on grass somewhere and something like the sun beaming down on his face. But everything around Wolfram seemed a colorless void with many shades of white all blending into each other. But, still, there was that feeling of grass that he held onto.

Wolfram felt himself leaning back for a reason he didn't understand. It was when his hands brushed up against something on either side of him that he realized that he was sitting on something that felt like grass and a body, another person's legs—one leg on either side of his own. A hand cupped his face and Wolfram reclined against a firm, well-sculpted chest.

"W-Who are…?"

"How could you not know me?"

_Shinou_. The name flooded Wolfram's thoughts. He didn't need to speak the word for it to be heard. "You're with me…here…wherever 'here' is…aren't you?"

A deep rumbling chuckle vibrated briefly against Wolfram's back and arms came around Wolfram's shoulders—hugging him. A whisper of hair brushed Wolfram's cheek.

"What happened?"

A natural question.

"You collapsed to the floor…as I knew you would…"

Wolfram couldn't piece it together. He turned his head towards Shinou but knew that all he would see would be white.

"Why?"

Wolfram could feel a smile pressed against his cheek.

"You're safe for now. That's all you need to know."

Wolfram leaned back against Shinou a little more. The ancient spirit seemed to want that—or _need it_—so complying seemed the only viable option. Fighting for no purpose would have been wasted effort in whitespace. "Why is everything so…_colorless_?"

"We'll be like this for awhile."

Wolfram groaned. "How long is awhile?"

"For the moment, time will have no meaning for you."

Maybe, it was the tone that bothered him now. Something there, just beyond his comprehension. "I don't under…" Wolfram wanted to withdraw into himself at words which held no meaning and no comfort. He wanted his life back, his family…Yuuri… But, if Shinou felt inclined to protect him in some way, that it was _necessary_ in some way…

"Wolfram?"

He gave in. "As you say."

"But it bothers you, I take it…? Would you like to see something?"

Wolfram turned slightly against Shinou and looked backward again. But, then, in the next instant, he kicked himself because he was being an idiot—doing the same things but expecting different results. Of course, The Original King would be invisible.

"Show me anything…real, fantasy…something… And, then, as soon as you can, please take me back to Yuuri and the others."

There was a break in the conversation—as though Shinou had picked that moment to study him. The young blond squirmed a little.

"Do you really want Yuuri Heika?" The arms around Wolfram seemed to hug him. "I sense confusion here…and pain."

Uncomfortable, Wolfram huffed, "I asked you to show me something besides all of this." He used a bratty tone as he gestured towards all of the nothingness around him. Then, he wondered why he bothered to gesture unseen. He smacked a hand across his face.

_I'm so stupid._

"Entertainment while your body heals? Now, there's a prospect."

Wolfram's heart beat harder at the words. "T-That's not what I…" He almost feared whatever Shinou would call "entertainment." But a hand stroked his cheek again.

"The problem with _fate_ is that _free_ _will_ has a nasty habit of diverting the best of plans. That's why I had to be careful with the soul placed in Yuuri Heika and…believe it or not…the soul placed in you." Shinou paused as though hesitant to divulge anymore. But, a shrug later continued with "It belonged to someone dear to me."

Even though, logically, he felt that this should have been an honor for him, disappointment still managed to seep in from somewhere_. I always believed my soul was a young soul_, Wolfram thought and heard a snicker. He could feel his mouth turn downward. _You really can read my thoughts… Huh, Shinou?_

"While I am here with you, Wolfram, the answer is… 'Yes, I can'." Shinou whispered the last three words close to his ear. "But, that is neither here nor there."

"Shinou, this place we're in is literally…'neither here nor there'."

"Touché."

Colors began to spread and just the sight filled Wolfram with relief. He was a part of the scene and, yet, not a part—the artist painting with his heart and soul guided by the power of an ancient spirit ancestor.

But the colors grew darker—black, shadows.

Filth and the smell of stagnant water.

"Yuuri, no!" Wolfram shouted, running across the scuffed-up grey stone floor towards a wide, dank chamber used for sorting and processing prisoners en masse. The arched hallway Wolfram was running through widened into a massive chamber with chain links dangling from walls. Water was dripping in from the ceiling and there were roaches and long-legged spiders clinging to the mildew-covered walls. Puddles of greenish sludge clung to Wolfram's boots.

How long had he been running? Searching?

The sound of his desperate, heavy breathing echoed. Wolfram could feel his body aching in this dampness but drove it all to the back of his mind. He had a purpose and, in this moment, he was necessary.

"Wolf?"

It was a weak, miserable voice but laced with hope, too.

"Wolf, is that…?"

Yuuri was half slumped against the right wall—arms stretched over his head—wearing thick metal bracelet shackles that were each chained to part of the wall.

The double black forced his head to turn as something moved. "Wolf…wait…"

Running.

Splashing in filth.

The blond felt adrenaline arc through his body as he met up with three hulking, armed men—hair dark brown and matching rough-cut leather jerkin vests—unsheathing their swords as they rushed towards the double black from a side entrance.

Wolfram saw it in their eyes. Death.

This, he knew, would be Yuuri's death day.

_No!_

_It won't happen!_

"Yuuri! I'm coming!" Wolfram unsheathed his sword in a fluid motion, the sound of sharpened steel sliding out in a single, ringing tone. As Yuuri would wish, Wolfram took out the first man easily enough with a hard, sharp kick—knocking a kneecap out of place. With a roar of pain, the soldier's leg collapsed and he fell into a heap as Wolfram attacked the middle swordsman with shining blade raised—a diagonal slice to the chest and throat.

There was no time to be merciful. And Yuuri would hate him forever.

Wolfram's breathing was loud. The sound was in his ears and each breath rattled him. It was the third that would be the problem. With the tip end of his sword, the blond stabbed and pushed the second soldier's body into the last man. They fell. And the blond finished him off, stabbing through the chest, directly in front of Yuuri's terrified eyes. These were the same movements that Wolfram only "gestured towards" in training drills. But, this time, it was real.

Wolfram, covered in sprays of blood not his own, could feel Yuuri's anger, disapproval, disappointment, misery, sorrow… But there was no time for the kind of mercy the double black believed in. There just wasn't.

And, they were still in danger.

"Wolfram!" Onyx eyes widened as the blond charged at him. For a second, Yuui looked as though the ex-prince would murder him. He cringed and cowered weakly as Wolfram's bloodied blade struck metal.

"I'll get you out of here!"

Another strike. Nothing.

The chains held fast. No matter. He'd have to melt them and have Yuuri leave the foreign castle wearing the cuffs as temporary bracelets.

The first. _That took forever_. And, now, the second.

Wolfram smiled thinly as he broke the left wrist free from the wall by melting the offending chain in his fist. The blond took his king by the forearm—pushing him roughly in the direction of the door where a very much relieved Conrad now stood.

"Good job, Wolfram!"

Praise from an older brother healed a little of his soul.

Desperately, Yuuri reached a hand out for Conrad. Then, he turned back to Wolfram to make sure he was still there, eyes glad.

That was the way they were together.

Those two.

Always.

That bond.

If Conrad could give Yuuri an ounce of comfort in this mess, Wolfram believed that it would be worth it. His pride be damned.

ButYuuri looked past Wolfram's shoulder.

"Wolf…"

The sword's glint.

"Yuuri, no!"

Wolfram could make out the flash of a blade—one from the first soldier. Injuring the man's leg simply wasn't enough to keep him down long enough for an escape.

The blond slid sideways and held Yuuri against his chest—one arm around his neck and one around his waist—desperately hugging him.

With force, Wolfram's body lurched forward with the sudden thrust to his back. Blood splattered from his mouth as, from behind, Conrad's blade assailed the intruder with savage thrusts.

What was left of the soldier's body and sword fell to the stone floor.

Yuuri stood there, shocked, his cheek sprayed in a splatter of fresh blood as Wolfram's body slumped against him. Weakening with every struggled breath.

"Be a good king…Yuuri," Wolfram whispered with a liquid-gargled breath.

The pain was nothing. He could barely feel it. Numb.

"Wolfram, no!"

They both crumbled to the floor together—kneeling--Wolfram's arm sagging around Yuuri's neck and then, finally, slipping off.

He held Wolfram to him, not daring to let go.

"…Worth it…"

His teeth were stained red.

"No..." Yuuri turned to Conrad. "Help me!"

He handed Wolfram over to Conrad's waiting arms. Exhausted as he was, Yuuri began to tear the clothes from Wolfram's body, determined to heal him if he could. But, there was so much blood. And the overpowering stench made Yuuri sick.

Wolfram's weary head turned to Yuuri. "…I'll wait for you…on the other side of the river…"

Yuuri grabbed Wolfram's hand. He squeezed it. "Wolfram!"

"Sorry…can't…"

The world faded to white once more.

"Wolfram!" Yuuri called. "Wolf!"

The double black scratched his head as he scanned the grassy garden. "Where can he be?"

From around the large apple tree, a little boy with black hair, black eyes, and Asian features ran towards him with arms waving. "Daddy!"

"Did you have fun with your sister?" Yuuri asked with a chuckle in his voice, pointing to the woman in her late 20's who was busy gathering up the remains of their picnic. She smiled at her husband, Murata Ken, who was bouncing their eight month old baby boy on his thigh. With all of the lives that he'd lived, he was more than capable of being an attentive father.

"Yeah, it was fun." He smiled like sunshine, sitting on the grass to his father's right. The double black took a seat next to him.

Yuuri ruffled the boy's unmanageable locks. No matter how much effort his wife put into it, the child's hair was still messy.

"Tell the story again, father!" Wolf-chan asked, his eyes glowing.

He sighed with a crooked grin. "Again?"

"Yeah!" Black, messy hair shook "yes" in a wave.

"Well…" He eyed the boy, pretending to see if he deserved the story or not. Wolf-chan looked up with wobbly eyes. Surely, he'd say it. His Daddy would say the words.

"It all started when I got flushed down a toilet and ended in this place…"

"Shin Makoku!" The child said enthusiastically, like a cheer at a baseball game.

"…And got accidentally engaged…"

A wide grin full of baby teeth. "And I'm named after him!"

"Yes, yes…" Yuuri chuckled. "Started to…"

"Scream 'cheater' at you and then played toss with fireballs!"

"R-Right…" Yuuri wasn't sure if "played toss" was the correct wording for it, though.

"And he set your pants on fire one time!"

"Ummm…true…."

"Oh and there's the time that he…"

"Hey, who's telling this story…me or you?"

An impish face tilted up curiously. "Do you think he would have liked me?"

A blond angel sitting behind the child wrapped his invisible wings around him. The spirit laughed with a soundless voice and glanced sideways, lovingly at the double black king.

Yes, he would have liked him.

Very much.

The scene bleached itself back to white again. And, this time, Wolfram smiled wryly. _I know what Yuuri said to me earlier, but this way is better for him. He seemed so happy here…so relaxed._

"Shinou?"

"Hmm?"

"Was that fate, free will, or fantasy?"

The Original King thought about it for a moment. "Sometimes, even I have trouble telling those apart."

Wolfram could feel himself still smiling a true smile. It had been so long since he'd done that. "What I'm asking is… Can you make this future happen, Shinou?"

"Maybe."

"If you could, it would be my fondest wish."

* * *


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

.

The chamber door opened and, just as quickly, closed again. The ornately decorated study had a cheery fire burning in the fireplace. The room was crammed full of dust-free tomes, journals neatly arranged, maps rolled and appropriately stored—all from floor to ceiling with great care. There was a desk by the window with a lamp, quill, inkpot, and stack of parchment ready for use. There was also a stack of Shin Makoku history books and notes.

"You have no idea what I had to go through to get this. I didn't think I'd run out of this so quickly." The voice was authoritative and annoyed.

A small, dark glass bottle the size of a thumb was placed on the antique wooden desk in front of a seated figure who was half hidden in shadows—the oil lamp had burned down that low. The long haired figure didn't move an inch, didn't blink. The visitor, on the other hand, walked around as though owning the place.

"Ink is the next thing we'll need. I prefer green…for some things. Black for others."

The drawer opened with the sound of wood scraping wood.

"And a quill…"

A small chuckle graced the room.

"Yes, a quill is definitely needed."

The speaker's hand traced a loving sweep across the long haired figure's cheek. "And, my dear…" the voice whispered into a shell-like ear "…you need a shave."

* * *

The chamber was still damp. It was getting on his nerves. Who could stand being in this place for any length of time? But the figure on the altar didn't move, didn't complain.

But he cried.

Yuuri bit his lower lip slightly with the next tear that slid down Wolfram's face. "Why has he been crying?" Yuuri asked, his voice betraying his discomfort, as Murata wiped the alabaster cheek again. He'd been doing that from the moment it had started with the lithe body being placed on the altar. In the beginning, the sage had told himself that it was because the tears annoyed him—making him feel more pity than was due for Little Lord Brat. But, it wasn't true. Some part urged him to, _nagged_ him to. The plump Earth Mother Mazoku that he had been back in his sixth life wiped all of her children's faces. Never once did she tell them not to cry when it truly hurt. And, for all that Murata knew, Wolfram was in pain—not that he'd tell Yuuri. He'd skirt around that issue if he could.

"We're still narrowing down what kind of poison was in the ink," the sage stated with a shrug. "The healers are going through the medical scrolls as we speak. But, if it were my guess…"

Wolfram's body jerked disjointedly and then jerked again. His blond head thrashed and his nails bit into the thin mattress he was lying on.

"Muscle spasms," Murata gritted out, holding Wolfram down. Gwendal and Conrad joined in to keep their brother safe where he was.

"Wolfram!" Gwendal growled as an arm freed itself and flung in his direction.

"Damn," the sage cursed under his breath. He really wasn't that strong and Wolfram, awake or not, was formidable.

"Then knock him out!" Yuuri wailed.

"We can't," the sage gritted back, fighting a losing battle.

The blond arched his body and the sage pushed the chest down as a response.

Legs kicked.

Conrad had them again.

Arms, legs, and trunk of his body pinned down now, Wolfram whimpered lowly—trying to pull his knees to his chest and finding himself unable to do so. A smattering of instinct and consciousness. Everything hurt. If he could just move, stretch…

"_Yuuri_…" Wolfram groaned the name as his body jerked again in pain, without rational thought, without control.

"Great Sage-sama?" Two shrine maiden guards called from the doorway curiously. "Should we inform the healers?"

Wolfram took labored breaths.

"Yes! Please!" He hissed as he tried to steady Wolfram. The sage turned his head to his left. Yuuri was standing there with his arms wrapped tightly around his own shoulders, staring at Wolfram as though haunted, not knowing what to do. Seeing the blond out of control like that was more than he could take. It was alien and absurd. The "Wolfram" that he knew would never—_could _never—act out of control.

Yuuri tried to mutter a quiet "Help…him, please." But, to Murata's ears, it seemed to say, "Help us, please."

Wolfram's body fought them as he begged "Yuuri" with Gwendal muttering curses that would make a sailor blush and Conrad using the grappling skills he taught every day to his own men. Sick as he was, who knew that Wolfram could be so strong?

"Yuu…ri…!" The breaths were sharp, high pitched now. Almost panicked.

Yuuri found the courage to reach out a hand and cup Wolfram's cheek—stroking it. "Wolfram? It's me…It's…"

Then, Wolfram collapsed, limbs long and loose. His head rolled to the side, away from the double black.

Wiping the sweat from his brow, Murata turned away from the altar and pushed his glasses up on his nose with a finger. "The best way to help him is to find out who did this to him. Because, I guarantee you, it will be worse next time."

* * *

"Oi!"

Cold water splashed down the back of his neck unexpectedly and he tensed up while trying to lift the upper half of his body away. It felt like he was leaning backwards with his head in the sink at an unnatural angle.

Girls giggled in the background.

"No, wait!"

His body was lifted up and he was dragged by both wrists into a chair while Yuuri, Conrad, and Gwendal looked on with smirks on their faces.

Murata's glasses were taken from his face and carefully folded closed by a shrine maiden who whispered "Lovely eyes, huh?" to her friend, Althea, the shrine's chief advisor and decorator—who just happened to also be quite talented with _hair_.

"Black hair is beautiful but incredibly difficult to bleach blond," she muttered, humbly accepting the new task as a top priority. Just touching The Great Sage was, of course, an honor. To do his hair, doubly so. And, with the stakes being so important, well, she had to do her best in every possible way with perfect attention to detail.

"Look," Murata sputtered and squeezed an eye closed as the bleach was being applied to his hair, "when I said the best way to help was to find out who did this, I didn't mean that I WAS GOING TO DO ANYTHING!"

"You're shouting," Gwendal said calmly "And" he added, "Wolfram always parts his hair just here." He pointed to the appropriate place on Murata's head.

Murata squirmed. No one cared.

"What we really need, here, is a von Bielefeled to come in and masquerade as our favorite hot head. So, go write a message to Waltorana von Bielefeld and have one of the relatives sent over." He finished it with a nervous laugh.

No one bothered to listen.

A shrine maiden leaned in and straightened the cape draped across Murata's chest and legs.

"You were a blond before, remember? When we first came to Shin Makoku? Besides, there's no time," Yuuri explained. "Wolfram made a very public visit to the shrine and people are going to start asking questions if he doesn't return."

"Oh, what kind of questions?" Murata returned as he pinched his nose. The bleach smell was getting to him. "You mean the kind that wrecks reputations?" But, immediately, he deeply regretted saying that. Wolfram's reputation was already damaged beyond repair thanks to Yuuri. And everyone knew that Wolfram's affections had been ignored and unreturned for years. _Oh, great,_ Murata thought as he eyed Gwendal's almost lethal leer, _I just implied some sort of "revenge sex" between Wolfram and someone here. Probably me or something… Ugh!_

"Sorry about that," Murata muttered.

Yuuri shrugged an "okay" awkwardly as his eyes met the floor. He continued with "You're the only one with his basic body shape and height. Once we put a cloak on you, with the cowl over your face, no one will notice. So, Conrad's plan will work, I think."

That got a nod. "In the short-term, at least," Conrad stated.

The women dabbed bleach on Murata's eyebrows to lighten them, murmuring suggestions among themselves.

"But, what about a certain _blond_ back there who is going to be very unhappy that someone, other than him, is sleeping with _his husband_?" Ah, he'd got them there! Murata was proud of himself for dreaming that one up.

"Oh…I don't think _Shinou Heika_ would mind," Gwendal quipped with a sardonic grin and arms folded defensively across his chest.

Onyx eyes shot open. "Wait! No, you see!" Now, he was laughing nervously, almost hysterically. Eyes too wide. Mouth too big. "I'm not married to Shinou in this lifetime…or any previous one."

"But, we could arrange that," Gwendal said, not moving an inch from his spot and a hard light coming into his eyes. For the sake of his little brother on the altar, he'd go this far. "In fact, I believe that it is within The Demon King's decision making powers to determine marriages and engagements within the court."

Murata's jaw dropped. He made pathetic little squeaking sounds.

"Wait! No!" He leaned forward with his fingers gripping the armrests, knuckles white. "You can't do that! Shinou's not even alive. He's just a spirit!" _A really horny, perverted, annoying spirit!_

Gwendal's grin hardened. "But not outside the realm of possibility. And, I believe, we'll owe Shinou Heika a great deal for aiding our brother." He turned to Conrad. "Right, Conrad?"

Conrad's smile perked. "Absolutely."

Murata turned to Yuuri with begging, wobbly eyes. "B-But…"

Yuuri nodded and said to the hairdresser. "He needs a little more bleach behind his left ear."

* * *

The horses made their slow trek back to Blood Pledge Castle. Conrad was on his own horse and held the reins to Wolfram's pure white steed as they rode along. Gwendal eyed Yuuri riding with Murata—dressed in black leggings, a blue shirt, and a hooded cloak taken from Murata's own wardrobe at the temple—riding together.

"So, explain to me these clothes of yours," Yuuri said casually, turning behind to get a glance at Murata with Wolframish blond hair.

"Sometimes…I go… _out_…" He shrugged it off. It wasn't like it was a big deal anyway.

"You mean, you go into town and you don't want people knowing you're The Great Sage of Shin Makoku?" the double black teased as he turned back.

"I like to do things my own way…_on my own_." Murata emphasized the last three words. He was feeling really put out at the moment. How could his best friend, Yuuri, involve him? Murata saw his role as adviser. He'd open his mouth, suggest a course of action, and then have Yuuri shoot it down in favor of rushing in without a plan.

Murata glanced at the wan smile of Conrad's and Gwendal's "put up with it or die" glance.

Okay, he could do this. He'd fly by the seat of his pants for Yuuri's sake. But, being a blond again, and not of his own choosing, was annoying. And being Wolfram's body double for who knows how long was going to be even more so.

"When we get to the gates," Gwendal directed, "pull back your hood to show the hair and tilt your face lower so that no one can see it."

Murata rolled his eyes inwardly. Like he hadn't thought of that all by himself? _Sheesh_. _Tell me something new…_ And, then, a wicked grin came to him. "Of course, Lord von Voltaire…I'll just pretend that I'm all snuggled and leaning up against my _husband_."

Yuuri visibly stiffened at that. _No, Murata can't be serious. _Yuuri, like most Japanese, hated public affection.

Just for good measure, the sage leaned forward and pressed a smile into the side of Yuuri's neck, making the young man's eyes bug out and his breathing change. Yuuri didn't know whether to laugh at the tickling of Murata's breath or to shriek in terror.

Instead, he just stopped—his mind, his body, the horse.

Murata urged the horse forward and Yuuri stiffened again at the movement from behind.

"And, of course, there's always…" He tilted his head to see more of Yuuri's profile. "Bedtime…"

"EH-H-H-H?!" Yuuri's grip on the reins doubled. He was now white knuckled, eyes searching for his godfather for help out of this one.

"And just imagine how," Murata went on, "your royal consort is going to react to that when he learns of it…from me."

Yuuri looked at Conrad and Gwendal with pleading eyes. "We…we can't…he'll be furious and I…" The double black jerked awkwardly and the horse bucked.

Murata's evil smirk faded quickly enough after that. Game time was fun but Yuuri was going overboard now. _Typical_.

Yuuri opened and closed his mouth and made pathetic little whimpering noises until Murata punched him in the back.

"Ow!" The double black bent forward in the saddle and rubbed his aching back with a hand. "What'd ya do that for?"

"Bringing you back to reality," Murata answered calmly. "We've got to find out who is behind all of this and why." He leaned to the side and a bit forward to catch Yuuri's eye. "Your husband's at the shrine but he's still in danger."

Yuuri nodded seriously to that.

"And, once we've settled this," Murata said after licking his dry lips, "you'll be free to annul the marriage since you never consummated it. It's a pity, though, considering the fact that Ulrike and I married you two in the first place."

The whole topic made Yuuri flinch. And, much to his chagrin, he noticed that his godfather's smile wavered and Gwendal's eyebrow arched upward.

They knew. Of course, they knew. Everyone probably did and it was mortifying. _But, still._

"Annul…" Yuuri murmured along with "…consummated." He wasn't comfortable with either of those. And some part of him simply longed to keep things as they were. Safe. Safe was good. Boring was good, too. And he needed "routine." His life was routine-driven. He'd made it that way.

Murata's eyebrows narrowed meanly and he rested a hand on Yuuri's shoulder in a seemingly friendly fashion. Sometimes, his friend was so frustrating—in ways that Shinou never was. He pressed, "But, I'm sure that your soon-to-be ex-husband already has a plan to let you go. And you're playing your part…whether you know it or not." He pointed to Yuuri's hand, sans ring. "So, don't worry much about the details, Shibuya. He won't be by your side for very long."

Yuuri glanced again at Conrad and Gwendal. This time, he noticed that they'd exchanged looks of agreement.

And, for the first time in a long while, Yuuri felt lonely.

Wolfram was not by his side—gone, sick, back at the temple. Yuuri wasn't wearing his wedding ring. Yes, he knew and he understood why. Wolfram wore his ring as a necklace over his heart. But, he still wasn't _wearing_ it. How easy would it be to simply take the thing off again as he had on their wedding night?

"Whatever he wants is fine with me," the double black said quietly, "as long as he's alive and healthy." The emptiness in his heart grew a little wider at the thought of what Wolfram might do once freed from the room in Shinou's temple. "But, I won't allow him to leave the castle." He sighed as he lied to himself, knowing it for what it was. "But I'll not have him give up his home. Blood Pledge Castle is where he belongs."

Murata laughed and then tilted his face forward to rest on Yuuri's back. Blond locks peeked out. A peasant had stopped his work in the field to watch the royals go by. The light green haired Mazoku, who had dark, leathery skin and had to be at least 140, lowered his scythe to the ground and bowed profoundly. The others in the field, men and women alike, did the same.

Sensuously, Murata slipped his hand from Yuuri's shoulder only to wrap it around Yuuri's waist—drawing their bodies together. To that, the young king _visibly_ jumped, and the sage, in return, _visibly_ snuggled in.

The women in the field squealed: "Yes!" and "Newlyweds" and "So lucky!"

"Happy for you!" the man with the scythe called after them. He cupped a hand to his mouth and shouted, "Love is a precious gift!"

Murata moved his lips closer to Yuuri's ear and whispered, "Love is a precious gift…and you're about to lose it."

The double black's face hardened and he could feel some shadow of The Maou stirring within him. Murata had just stepped over the line. "So, are you saying that as the 'all knowing sage' of Shin Makoku?" Yes, there was sarcasm there.

"No," Murata returned with the same tone. "I'm saying that as a man…and as your best friend."

* * *

After spending all of that time outside, the castle interior seemed darker than ever. Of course, not having his glasses just made everything fuzzier and out of focus. Then again, that wasn't such a bad thing after all.

There was a deep, deep sigh.

"Boring…"

He was sounding like a Furby now. Maybe, he should have added "dum-de-dum-de-de-de-do."

Murata was now sitting on Wolfram's side of the royal bed—a bed which was big enough for five people to sleep comfortably. He kicked his feet idly. He didn't want to be here. He didn't want to have a hand in this. And, frankly, his attitude was bad and he knew it. But, it was so unfair to be here when there were scantily clad shrine maidens skipping all over Shinou's temple! And, for once, Shinou was occupied—with Wolfram.

"So, what's the plan now?" Gwendal asked abruptly, eyeing the blond sage and Conrad standing not far from him.

"It would probably be best to confine him to this room." Conrad scratched his chin and added, "He should take meals here, too, but make an appearance in the garden at dusk when no one can see his face clearly."

Gwendal nodded. "He'll keep the hood up and we'll have the royal couple hold hands or something."

"We can also spread the rumor that we're fighting again," Yuuri said, still feeling burnt from Murata's little "love" comment earlier.

"Oh, yeah," Murata sighed, now that his fun was over with and he could see what a _glorious time_ he was going to have impersonating Wolfram von Bielefeld-Shibuya. "Just have our red-haired inventor create a fireball making machine and it will be totally convincing."

Conrad smiled. "You know, that's not a half bad idea." He went for the door. "I'll be back."

Murata opened his mouth only to shut it again when he saw the impish look in Yuuri's dark eyes.

"You're enjoying this now, aren't you?" he asked, as he went back to his "bored to tears" tone, repositioned his legs until he sat cross-legged on the bed, and rested his hand against his cheek.

"Absolutely."

* * *

"Wolfram? What are you doing?" Shinou asked, primly taking a seat on a grassy covered mound of earth sprinkled with dandelions. He counted off on his fingers. "I block your pain. I leave you for only an hour or two… And I come back to find…_this_." He gestured to the scene before him.

Of all the fantasies that his descendant could have come up with to entertain himself, he chose this one. Shinou, knowledgeable as he was, couldn't fathom it.

_Then again, maybe I should have mentioned that I gave him that power before I left…_

He eyed the prince consort again.

Wearing only Yuuri's pajama bottoms, the blond bishonen was dangling upside down by one ankle from a rope tied to a tree limb. He was hanging over a koi pond with curious fish looking up and gaping at him. To make matters worse, a small—chibi—Yuuri dressed in a baseball uniform was standing off to the side throwing mud balls at him.

"Whadd ya think I'm doing?" Wolfram griped and, then, his green eyes widened as the miniscule Yuuri wound his arm up for another go at him. The mud ball flew through the air and smacked Wolfram in the chest, splattering everywhere and leaving another wet print outlined against pale skin.

Chipmunk laughter filled the air as small hands patted together another brown projectile from a few feet away. This one had a rock in it.

"If you could get me down…_I'd appreciate it_," Wolfram griped between clinched teeth as mud slid lower, traced brown lines on his throat, and dripped into his hair.

Owlishly, the Original King stood and moved closer to inspect.

No two ways around it, Wolfram looked like Hell.

"Whatever…" Shinou began and ducked.

*splat*

"Possessed…"

*splat*

"You."

*big splat*

"To think…"

*goopy splat*

"Of this…?"

Seeing from the corner of his eye the next wind-up, Shinou nimbly stepped out of the line of fire as a ridiculously large mud cannonball came hurtling in Wolfram's direction.

Wolfram "oofed" deeply with the impact and his body swung like a piñata. "Dunno," he glowered, now covered in a lovely shade of mocha.

Even in dream worlds, life could suck royally.

* * *


	6. Chapter 6

.

Chapter 6

.

"Come," Gwendal barked as he sorted through a pile of papers that the maou should have been going through. These were the usual: forms requesting more flour for the royal kitchens, inventory of the wine vaults, the yearly servants' pay breakdown, and… He squinted. The repair bills for Wolfram throwing a tantrum in one of the sitting rooms and setting the couch and matching curtains on fire. Gwendal decided to pay that one out of his own pocket. He'd been with Yuuri at the time and had asked one of the servants to pour the tea. The ridiculous woman, too nervous on her first day, tripped on the ivory antique rug, dropped the tray of teacups, and landed in Yuuri's lap with her skirt hiked up and legs apart crudely. Wolfram had chosen that time to burst in excitedly regarding a messenger pigeon he'd just gotten from the borderlands when he witnessed the red haired girl sitting in Yuuri's lap with her hands clutching his black school jacket. Gwendal shook his head at the memory. If it hadn't been for his own quick thinking and thick shields, Yuuri would have been toast.

The orange haired man poked his head in the door playfully and, then, the rest followed. Yozak was dressed oddly—a handsome dark green suit of clothes, black belt, and ruffled lace at the neck and sleeves.

Gwendal blinked at him. "You look…very nice." Then, he coughed into his fist and redirected his mind back to the task at hand. Conrad would, probably, not like that comment being said out loud.

His eyes caught a devilish grin from the orange haired spy as a response.

His mood darkened. "So, why have you dropped by to see me?"

"Ah, well…" A happy grin. "I've been taking tea with your mother, her friend…Demetrius von Wincott or 'Dom' as he prefers to be called…"

Gwendal frowned deeply at Dom's name. He was tall with dark blue hair and icy colored eyes. The favorite nephew of Susannah Julia's father sported a muscular build which rivaled Yozak's and the pedigree was beyond reproach—having relatives on both sides of his family among the Mazoku noble class, which included Raven, his mother's favorite.

_But, isn't Dom just a little too young for her?_ Gwendal fumed and then feared that if he answered it in his head, his mother would, somehow, know.

Some things were better left "unthought."

"While I was at tea a few minutes ago, one of the messenger pigeons arrived." Losing his smile, Yozak waved the note and placed the crinkled piece of parchment on the desk. "It isn't good news, I'm afraid."

Gwendal picked up the message.

Yozak went on, "I have friends in…low places…and, according to them, we've gotta make more room in the royal dungeons."

The administrator's face went blank when he got to the last sentence.

"But…!"

The spy nodded. "I know…but we understood that there was always the possibility of a fourth assassin hiding among the nobles at the wedding." He brushed off a speck of non-existent lint from his left sleeve. "We just don't know which one…yet."

"Agreed." He slammed his fist on the desk. "Which means that…"

"Yeah," Yozak sighed. "The kiddo's still in danger."

* * *

It had been three days of total and complete "_nothing_" and Murata was about to go stir crazy. He'd paced the royal suite, poured through eleven books borrowed from the library, and downed every sample of tea that he could get from the royal kitchens. By this point, the maids, who were only allowed to leave trays of food and drink outside the bedchamber, thought Wolfram was in one of his "picky moods." In order to cover up the fact that he didn't know what Wolfram liked or disliked, he'd order a wide variety of things to be sent up instead of a single portion of a single dish or drink.

The guards were no help, either. Once, Murata tried to sneak out to take a bath only to have the guards—Gwendal's top, most trusted men—grunt out, as the door opened, that His Royal Majesty has deemed it necessary to have the Royal Consort of Shin Makoku _remain in quarters _and that if he failed to respect it, he would be residing in a nice, warm jail cell in the dungeons under the castle. Thanks to the wording and the guard's clothes, Murata knew exactly who had issued that order. And, knowing how stubborn Gwendal could be, especially where his little brother was concerned, this was a boundary that he had no desire to test.

The oversized, antique door swung open.

Looking exhausted, Yuuri stepped into the room and sighed loudly, "Over!" He rubbed his black locks loosely with one hand. "I'm so glad this day is over. I could feel my lifespan depleting as Günter began to discuss the history of Mazoku military latrine construction. Although, the noted 'failures' were a bit amusing even though Günter wanted to gloss over the only part of the lecture that was half way decent because it could harm my delicate ears." Yuuri laughed to himself as he sat on the bed and began tugging his left shoe off.

"What are you doing?" Murata scowled.

Looking at him, Yuuri could swear that the sage had black scribbles appearing over his blond head.

"Um…I'm…uhh…taking off my shoes? Relaxing?" He leaned his head to the side curiously. "Why?"

Murata shook his head "no" and grabbed Yuuri by the hand. "Oh, no you don't! I've been cooped up here all this time and you're going to take me out."

"Wait! What?"

Murata took a deep breath and released it through his teeth. "While you've been out there…_seeing_…_people_…I've been stuck in here, in solitary, for a bit too long." He began to pace again. He just couldn't stop himself. It was so frustrating!

Yuuri shrugged it off. "Aw, come on. You got to have three solid days to yourself. Isn't that great? I wish I could…"

"That's not the point!" he hissed lowly so that the guards wouldn't hear. Then, he aimed a finger at the double black. "You are going to get your shoe back on. And, then, you're going to take me for a walk in the garden before…" His eyes got a little wild and he hissed again, "Before I go insane and _take you with me!_"

Unnerved, Yuuri nodded at that and struggled getting the blasted shoe on. "S-Sorry about that. I guess, I…uh…"

He looked up to see that Murata was already standing before him with his black leggings, a blue shirt, and a hooded cloak. The sage fingered the cloak a little bit and added, "This brown really isn't your husband's best color. I would suggest getting another one in either blue or green."

"Oh, wow…._now_, you're a fashion designer, too?" Yuuri laughed, hoping to lighten the mood.

Murata chuckled a little bit. "Three lifetimes ago, I was a haberdasher toFabian Alexander von Bielefeld. I knew his tastes well, had a talent for cutting edge fashion, and made the man look so good that he would make…_little ol' me_... accompany him on his voyages abroad." He smiled at the memory.

"A relative of Wolfram's, huh?" Yuuri asked as they made their way for the door.

"Yes," he said with a sneaky look, "and if your husband is anything like Fabian Alexander…" He wiggled an eyebrow and watched with pleasure as Yuuri visibly swallowed hard. "Fetishes run in the family…didn't you know?" He cocked his head to the side wickedly.

Yuuri's wide eyes were on Murata and his hand missed the door three times before Murata took his hand and placed it on the knob.

"W-What kind of…?"

Murata grinned widely. "Well, in Fabian Alexander's case, it was a foot fetish."

"Ah…" It didn't make Yuuri feel any better. "Uhh…Feet?"

"Yes, he loved for women to walk on his back in sharp, pointy little men's shoes…which I provided for him." There was a dark chuckle.

Yuuri put a hand to his head. Changing the subject, he said, "Let's just go walk around the garden. It's pretty dark out now. So, let's just do it."

The pair walked past the guards easily enough when a certain lilac haired advisor in white came bounding around the corner like a happy puppy. His eyes lit up when he saw Yuuri.

"OH, H-E-I-K-A!!"

"No! It's Günter!"

Yuuri shrugged. "I don't see why we can't just tell him."

Murata could feel a vein popping. "Because we all agreed that the fewer people who knew, the better. We've got to investigate this without anything being discovered or leaked. Get it now?"

The double black sighed as Murata pulled his hood over his face and looked to the floor. "Yeah, I guess…"

"OH, HEIKA!" Günter gushed, coming up to them.

"Wolfram!" Yuuri said angrily, turning to Murata while wagging a finger. "Wait for me in the rose garden and stop arguing!"

Murata made the motions of creating a fireball when Yuuri added, "AND, NO FIRES!" Then, he turned to Günter, "Sorry about that," he said sheepishly. "Can I help you?"

The lilac haired adviser glomped on as Murata trudged away with relief.

"Ah…Heika! You're so wonderful with him! I knew you'd be the one to wear the pants in the family. So, commanding…. So, gentle."

Peeling Günter's fingers off of him, he asked, "But was there something _specific_ you wanted?"

"Well, actually, yes. I was hoping that Your Majesty could do a great favor for his humble servant." He bowed lowly.

"Yes?"

"I have a request for you to join me and my long time friend, Claus Eberstark , who is here researching cooking recipes in the historical texts. We're having lunch tomorrow in the rose garden at eleven. Claus is a renowned chef and food expert." Günter clapped his hands happily. "So, I am certain that he can make something wonderful for us…if he is allowed to borrow the use of the royal kitchen."

_Oh, I see… A hint to use the kitchen to make us something to eat._ Yuuri smiled brightly at him. "Sure! I'll be happy to come."

"We could ask…" Günter looked in the direction the blond had gone.

"Oh, I don't think so. He's been too moody lately."

That little comment made Günter practically glow.

"I…uh…gotta go." Yuuri motioned for the door. "I gotta apologize to…uh…Wolfram. I made him mad again." And, with that, he sprinted out the door.

Pulling back a tapestry, the advisor in white watched his shrinking form through the window. "Ah, so energetic! So, high spirited!"

* * *

The temple's healer, Egeria, was wearing a stern face as she took the plain, silver pitcher and a matching goblet from the tray being offered to her by a novice shrine maiden.

"Ladies," she said in the direction of two high ranking shrine maidens, both brunettes who usually performed guard duty due to their strength and agility, "I appreciate the assistance you are giving us today." With reverence, Egeria approached the altar. "What I need you to do is to take him by the shoulders…" She motioned a hand towards the lone, blond figure. "And…push him up a little bit…his upper body should be at a slight angle."

The women nodded.

"Now, for you two." Egeria turned to her new "assistants." Well, actually, truth be told, there was a lottery taken in the shrine and the two Mazoku women had "won." They had danced for joy once they were told of how they could help.

Healer Egeria's attention went back to the task at hand. "You know what to do." She presented each young lady a goblet with a special juice mixed with healing herbs floating on top. "It's good for the body and it should slowly counteract the effects of the Thrussian Green ink used in the letters."

The maiden to her right asked, "What's so harmful in it? The ink, I mean."

The healer frowned at Wolfram, his limp body now pushed up at an angle but not so far as a sitting position. The women steadied his head to keep it from rolling to the right.

"Thrussian Green ink is used in the metal working trade to reveal the 'high spots' on a flat surface, but it contains fungi-based cyanide. So, leather gloves are necessary." She huffed a sigh. "Whoever bought the ink…or made it…could easily do so without anyone being suspicious. The ingredients are that common."

The two young women glanced into the goblets again. What they were holding was life saving.

"One sip at a time, ladies, but don't swallow. Make sure you transfer the liquid from your mouth to his very gently until the goblet is used up." Her narrowed eyes moved to the maiden closest to her. "You first."

The young lady stepped forward, pulling her dark brown hair back over her ears so that it did not get in the way. She placed a hand behind Wolfram's head, took a sip of the bitter tasting fluid, and then pressed her lips against Wolfram's.

The eyes shot open—one blue and one green.

Startled, she tried to back away. But before the woman could do anything, the liquid was forcibly sucked from her mouth followed by a steamy, heart-pounding kiss.

The shrine maiden melted into his weak arms, pale hands pressing into her back.

_Oi…!_ Healer Egeria stomped forward, her panties in a twist. She grabbed the girl's goblet with one hand and, with the other, the smooching shrine maiden by her belt. Egeria yanked her away—only to have the girl fall onto the floor on her butt.

It was a cold floor.

"Shinou Heika!" the healer admonished. "This is no laughing matter."

But Wolfram's raspy laugh seemed to echo throughout the room to taunt her.

She gritted her teeth at the juvenile behavior that she knew The Original King was capable of. "If I had known that you were awake enough to drink all of this, I wouldn't have gone through the trouble."

Wolfram's head turned to the side and regarded her with a sexy smile. "What? And ruin all of the plans that you've made?" He shook his head with a great deal of effort. "Of course not, my dear lady." He winked at the first shrine maiden who was being handed back her goblet. With embarrassment, she dusted her skirt off.

"Please continue. I'm not sure how long I can hold out…in this state."

Ignoring the giggling maidens around her, Healer Egeria could see the truth. Wolfram's body was weak and Shinou's little prank only demonstrated the extent to which her healing could go without the medicine she was trying to get into him.

The breathing evened out, and the blue and green eyes began to droop.

With an annoyed "Continue," in the direction of the first shrine maiden—to which she got a deep blush but compliance—Shinou Heika raised a hand to the girl's cheek and allowed her to press her lips against his once again as the fluid was transferred to his mouth.

On the inside, Wolfram watched himself in horror and whispered _"No…! I'm the cheater now…"_

* * *

The double black searched for Murata and found him sitting alone on a white bench with a light pink rose twirled in his right hand. He sniffed it deeply and his form stretched back, leaning into the bench.

Murata took in the night air. His hood dropped back from his head and he allowed the cool breeze to caress his face. The sage knew that the stars were up there in the inky blackness, but, without his glasses, he just couldn't see them. The moon, lopsided as it was, was just a watery circle in the sky. But, he appreciated it nonetheless—the freedom to feel, to be outside, to have that connection to something of nature. He sniffed the flower again. Murata had never been one for flowers in this lifetime, but he was quickly growing to appreciate them. No perfume in the world matched the real thing. It was just lovely.

Fingers gripped cloth. The hood was flopped over his face unceremoniously and the sage jumped.

"You gotta keep hiding your face," Yuuri said almost cheerfully. "I know it's a pain but we can't lose our cover over even the small stuff. Remember?" It was fun to tease Murata a little. The two of them had been somewhat "off" since this disaster had started: the wedding, Wolfram's poisoning, and, now, this. Yuuri wanted them to spend some time together—talking baseball and whether or not the Hanshin Tigers were going to lose again, about that new strawberry cheesecake dessert that they just had to try at the family restaurant down the road from their school, about…

Yuuri could feel his heart speed up.

About…what to do about his sudden marriage to Wolfram.

No, maybe…maybe, they'd discuss that later when Yuuri didn't feel so anxious about it.

The double black fidgeted.

He had a feeling that he knew what Murata would say. And, Yuuri wasn't sure that he had such emotional attachments, or maybe not _strong enough_ ones, to make it work out well in the end no matter what he'd implied to Wolfram in the past. Pressure. That was it. Everyone was pressuring him to be with Wolfram—including Wolfram himself. But, then, the double black remembered his "wedding night." What a disaster that was. He'd spent time at the reception talking to the flustered and "put out" nobles and making vague excuses for Wolfram while he was at it. He'd nibbled on a non-descript thing that he guessed was a fudge brownie. And, at his first opportunity, Gwendal helped excuse him so that he could go to bed. But, he'd met Conrad outside of his room and the two noted, with growing alarm, that Wolfram wasn't in the royal bed chambers. He should have been there—there and _drunk_—but there nonetheless.

Yuuri bit his lower lip. Wolfram had been angry with him numerous times over the years they'd been together. But, almost every time, the blond would slip back in bed with him before the sun's rays kissed the horizon.

But not on that night. And he knew it would be that way from the manner Wolfram left, that the blond would spend the night alone—one of the nights Wolfram had wanted, dreamed of, for so long.

Then, Yuuri frowned. But, Wolfram wasn't alone, was he? Yozak had kept him company. Somehow, that didn't seem right. You should be alone in the room with your spouse. But, that's not what happened. And, for the next few minutes, Yuuri simply sat there with the feeling that he'd failed Wolfram.

And he had.

"You're quiet," Murata remarked casually.

"It's…uh…"

"Don't say 'It's nothing' because I won't believe you." He looked at Yuuri from the corner of his eye. "I'd say you're worried about…your _husband_."

There was that word again, "husband." Never, in all of his nightmares, would he even think of having one. "I…uh…"

A young, seemingly half human gardener who didn't appear to be that much older than Yuuri and Murata stepped into the garden with a lantern glowing on the end of a long stick. Quickly enough, he wandered in the direction of the couple, murmuring, "Now, where did that boy drop my shears?" Crouched over slightly, the mousy brown haired gardener hovered the lantern left and right—suddenly illuminating Murata's features.

The sage put a hand to his face and pulled the hood down more. "This is no good!" Murata hissed, fearing that his secret would be revealed.

"Yeah," Yuuri agreed under his breath with an edge to it, "I can see your face pretty well."

Murata's eyes seemed to search for something and Yuuri could tell that he was dreaming up a plan.

Yuuri thought, too. Should they make a run for it? But, if they did, wouldn't it be suspicious? If they started an argument and "Wolfram" didn't yell back or light a fireball, wouldn't that be a dead giveaway? If he simply told the gardener to leave, that would be so unlike him that the maids would follow him all day the next day and try to pry into his privacy—_and bedroom_—like crazy.

"Kiss me," Murata ordered in a harsh whisper.

"What?!" Clearly, his ears were lying to him.

Footsteps on the grass.

The sage cringed, eyes scrunched tightly. "Just…_do it_! He's too close now!"

Yuuri was too slow to respond, so the sage tried shifting around. But even turning his whole body to an unnatural angle wasn't going to help. That was obvious. "If people find out I'm an imposter, just how long do you think your husband will be safe back at the temple?"

Innocent, black eyes widened with the thought.

Murata pushed home his point by adding, "And just how well can he defend himself… in that state on the altar… if someone decides to just stroll on in at 2 AM and slit his throat?"

"Your Majesty!" the gardener called in greeting.

Feet shuffled on the green grass.

In the double black's imagination, he could see a sharp dagger plunging into Wolfram's white throat; His body jerked back with pain. And, then, the blood would flow—staining the white altar and dripping slowly to the floor as Wolfram cried out to him in pain. A hand reaching out desperately, needing his husband.

"Oh, no," Yuuri panicked, shot out a hand, latched it behind Murata's head, and pulled him into a kiss.

The double black's heart was beating so wildly that he failed to notice how _hard_ he'd smashed their lips together.

"Damn-it-that-hurts-Shibuya!" Murata muttered, mouth still on his. Reluctantly, he placed his arms around the king's waist—fearful of how the double black could possibly manage to _screw that up, too_.

"Sorry," he hissed back.

"Ah, well," the gardener said, lowering his lantern. The light, now, gave a golden glow to the royal couple on the bench. Apparently, the king was eager for a kiss and was quite rough with Wolfram. The brown hair Mazoku raised an eyebrow at that. It seemed that the bratty royal consort was, in private, actually quite submissive. That little bit of information might get him a cup of tea with the maids who were doing a betting pool on "dominants" and "submissives" among the castle elite. Yozak, as it was well known, happily fell into both categories.

"How many people have you kissed?" Murata demanded lowly, lips brushing against Yuuri's as he said the words.

"Does it matter?" he hummed back.

Murata sighed inwardly. This was just not his day. First, he was cooped up in the room and, now, he was smashing lips—literally—with his idiotic and inexperienced best friend.

"Let me teach you," Murata muttered begrudgingly.

"Why? We're doing it. What do you think we're doing right now?"

He turned his blond head to the side at an uncomfortable angle to hide his face more. "We're talking too much and kissing too little." And, with that, Murata moved his hands up to the front of Yuuri's jacket, took fist-fulls of the material, and pulled the double black closer. "Close your eyes. Relax your mouth. I'll do all the work because you can't and he's going to hear us talking." With a slight nod, he motioned to the gardener who was still there. The sage muttered "the voyeur" under his breath.

Yuuri's eyes widened to saucers when he felt Murata nibble on his lower lip. His mind went blank. He couldn't breathe much after that. And the fact that the sage had scooted closer—practically in his lap—didn't help matters.

The double black caught the sight of blond hair from the lantern's light. And a flash of memory came to him.

"Yuuri?"

"Hmmm?" He'd rolled around in bed.

"The wedding's tomorrow, Yuuri," Wolfram said, looking up at the canopy above the bed.

"Yeah." He was trying to sound cheerful—pushing himself, really.

Wolfram was quiet, contemplative. He rested his hands on his chest and breathed evenly—his chest rising and falling.

"You know…I'd do anything for you, right?" Wolfram turned his head and smiled thinly. It seemed strange at the time. It was as though the blond was taking him in, drinking in his features, for the very last time. Then, he suddenly frowned and turned away with the admonishment, "stupid me."

"What?" Yuuri asked, confused.

He shrugged uncomfortably. "I can't see you today, that's all. The couple to be married must spend twenty four hours apart. If not, it's…bad luck." He got out of the bed and reached for his robe. "But, it's all bad luck, isn't it?" he asked himself quietly.

"Wolfram," Yuuri said as he sat up in the bed—sheets pooling around his waist and black eyes looking at him owlishly, "are you okay?"

There was a bratty "humph" to that. "You just want to call the wedding off."

"No, seriously… Are you okay?"

The blond turned his back to him and tightened the belt to his robe. "The same as yesterday…"

Yuuri pressed his lips hesitantly against Murata's. _Wolfram knew that someone was going to try to kill me at the wedding. He was going to protect me, stand by my side, and, if necessary, take my place. Die._

Yuuri kissed Murata, feeling miserable and lonely. This blond was not the one who should be with him, by his side. It was not him at all.

"Hmmm…" Murata hummed and then whispered, "the perv's still here."

"What do we do?" he whispered back and then went in for another lip lock.

"I got it," he breathed.

"Hmm?"

Murata held Yuuri closer and whispered, "Moan."

"What?!!!" His head shot up. He was loud. He just couldn't help it.

The gardener seemed startled, too, and took a few steps to the side—not leaving, exactly, but pretending to.

"Moan like you mean it," the sage hissed.

"Why? Don't you think that would keep him here?" He nibbled Murata's neck because he was getting tired of the sage's lips. They felt rubbery.

"Well, it's either that or…" With determination, Murata grabbed Yuuri's face with both hands and kissed him. He pried open the double black's mouth with his tongue and shot it in.

Now, Yuuri wanted to gag and did. He actually panicked, hands scrambled, and was in such a state that he couldn't find Murata's shoulders to shove him away.

Now, the gardener had a concerned look on his face. Was the Demon King having some sort of fit? Or, was that normal when he kissed?

Murata snickered and did it again. Even up close, he could see Yuuri cringe and feel the body go rigid. In essence, he hated it. _Never done this before, eh, Shibuya?_

Yuuri was thoroughly repulsed. To begin with, having someone else's tongue in your mouth was revolting—never mind the slobber and opened, mushy mouth forced against yours. The tongue was wet and warm and, in his humble opinion, slimy against his own. Who, in their right mind, would get turned on by this? He'd seen it in the American films enough times, heard other guys bragging about it in the locker room… But it just didn't do anything for him.

Simply revolting.

He wondered how much more he would have to take before Murata suddenly—and mercifully—stopped.

"If you don't want to do this," Murata insisted, "then…moan." He nuzzled Yuuri's neck. "It will work."

Yuuri frowned. "He's a perv!"

Murata sighed and kissed again hissing, "Okay, more tongue for you."

At that, Yuuri moaned. The moan was weak, pathetic, and sounded like a page taken from "Bad Acting 101."

_Idiot!_ The sage rolled his eyes inwardly. Couldn't he even fake that? "Moan like you mean it," he coached.

"Why me?"

"Because my voice doesn't sound like the Royal Consort's."

"Fine! Fine!" he grumbled back.

Yuuri moaned again, slightly better this time.

Murata groaned at that. He wanted to smack a hand over his own face, but couldn't. "Shibuya, moan like you do each time you eat a Super Deluxe Bacon and Triple Cheese Burger at The Texas Cattle Call Restaurant back home."

Yuuri stared at him in shock, lips barely brushing. "I do _what_? Seriously?"

Murata frowned. "Why do you think the restaurant employees stare at you every time we go in? You moan after each bite and then tell me, repeatedly, how good it is."

"I do that?"

"Yup."

"Really?"

"Just get on with it!" Murata spat.

"Okay, okay." Yuuri cleared his mind and called up the image of the juicy, delicious burger. He kissed Murata again and had to think of each incredible bite. He accidentally nipped the sage's lower lip and his kissing partner narrowed his eyes unhappily.

Then, he moaned.

Murata raised both eyebrows at that. "Good!"

Yuuri moaned again, much more passionately this time.

"Again," the sage urged. "And deeper!"

Yuuri gave a long, throaty moan and Murata pulled away, pointed a finger at the gardener, and gasped in terror and embarrassment.

And, with that, the gardener bowed quickly and took off with the lantern bouncing wildly.

A few seconds passed and the sage asked while peeking out from under his hood, "Is he gone?"

"Uhhh….yeah…"

Murata and Yuuri both sprawled out on the bench, exhausted.

"You know what, Shibuya?"

"Wha-?"

"I'm never kissing you again. It's too much work."

* * *

Murata and Yuuri entered the bedroom still holding hands from their stroll in the rose garden. Murata, as usual, had been careful to keep his hood over his eyes but to have a few curls of blond hair peek out. He also tried to mimic Wolfram's way of walking—aristocratic with a manly swagger when happy and almost robotic when thoroughly pissed off.

The door closed with a thick, muffled whump.

"That was a close call," Yuuri breathed with relief, "but we made it."

"Yes," Murata agreed, pushing back the hood so that he could see the double black better, "but for how long? We won't be able to fool people forever, you know."

"True," Yuuri agreed, gathering his bath things in a small, wooden bucket, "but we'll do our best, right?" Without really paying attention, he offered Wolfram's bucket to Murata to take.

With a distracted gaze, Murata accepted the bucket but didn't answer.

Yuuri scratched his head with annoyance. He repeated "Right?"

Nothing.

Yuuri tilted his head to the side to see that Murata had his glasses back on and was approaching Wolfram's vanity. A letter in green ink was lying next to a silver comb and brush set.

Without hesitation, he reached out for it.

"Oh, no," Yuuri groaned, feeling helpless.

Murata, gripping only one edge, broke the red wax seal with his pinkie finger. "Believe it or not, this is good," the sage said confidently. "This person…whoever it is…believes the Royal Consort is still here. So, let's see what the message says."

"I'm kind of…"

Murata smiled at him. "…Nervous?"

"Yeah…but, not for me, though."

Unfolding the paper, the sage said quietly, "It would make him happy to know that you worried just a little bit about him."

Black eyes widened incredulously at that.

"Worry? I always have!" He'd said it too loud, but it couldn't be helped. Yuuri felt a sudden, fiery annoyance that was probably more consistent with his blond bishonen than with himself. At least, that's what Yuuri reasoned as he tried to calm his thumping heartbeat, putting a hand to his chest. _Heartbeats…hearts…_ Stressed and with his eyes darting to the green inked letter again, Yuuri dug his fingers into the material of his jacket and fought back a scowl. He'd always had a special place in his heart for Wolfram. But it wasn't just "a Wolfram." There were so many: "Happy Wolfram" reading to Greta and picking out her clothes, "Confused Wolfram" who didn't understand what a TV remote controller was for, "Sad Wolfram" who sniffed at the end of his romance novel but tried to blame it all on allergies…

"Honestly, my friend," Murata said with unusual sincerity as he eyed his companion over, "he never knew that."

A shake of his dark head, "That can't be true."

"Oh, it is," Murata smiled thinly, "because you never told him."

* * *


	7. Chapter 7

.

Chapter 7

.

* * *

"Love is an attempt to change a piece of a dream-world into reality."

Henry David Thoreau

* * *

"What does it say?" Yuuri asked, casting an owlish look over Murata's shoulder. "I'm having problems reading the handwriting. Too fancy, too curly…" He squinted hard with his mouth hanging open slightly.

Murata hummed a non-committal response, put down Wolfram's bath things onto the vanity, and unfolded the paper all the way, being careful to avoid the green inked words written with a thick quill. "Let's see…" He pushed his glasses further up his nose with his knuckle. "My Darling…Words cannot adequately express the feelings that we have for one another…"

Yuuri shook his head "no." He folded his arms across his chest. "None of that is true. There's no 'we' in this situation at all and the poisoned ink just shows malice. So, there's no way…"

He glowed inwardly at his own comment. He was right and it felt good to be right.

Murata turned to him with concern. "You're assuming, Shibuya, that this person…whoever it is…is _sane_."

"Wha-?" Yuuri's mind went blank for a second as it sunk in. "I…didn't…think…"

The sage scanned the rest of the page continuing on with "I wonder if there are any clues here…whether consciously or subconsciously put in…" He glanced at the back of the sheet to see if more had been written down. But, it was nothing other than Wolfram's name lovingly scrawled.

"What else…?" Yuuri urged. This was taking too long.

With a slight shrug, Murata continued to read out loud. "The entire castle is well aware that the hateful Demon King is holding you against your will in your very own rooms. Most certainly, you are never alone and under constant scrutiny. How it pains me to witness such a beautiful Mazoku, a strong creature of pure will and fire, being forcibly bound to such a frightful, possessive personage." The sage looked to Yuuri. "Translation: The consort is under watchful guard and it's getting almost impossible to leave these little love notes."

Yuuri agreed with the analysis, turning slightly pale. "Yeah...I get that, too."

To distract himself, the double black ran his fingers through his hair, feeling uncomfortable—almost nauseous. How he was being portrayed was painful to hear, but, even more, he could feel for Wolfram and wondered to himself how the blond had managed to tolerate such unwanted attention for so long without unburdening himself on someone sooner. Then, the awful thought struck him. Maybe, Wolfram had tried with him but he wasn't listening or it seemed like he didn't care. Yuuri couldn't deny that he had avoided Wolfram a time or two—especially when he began to wear the wedding ring on a strap around his neck. So, in the end, Wolfram confessed all to his brothers once they sensed something was wrong and didn't give him any choice.

"It concludes with," the sage held the letter closer to a candle on the vanity for better light. "When the end approaches, you will be in my arms…away from the existence that has only handed to you duty-bound misery and bitter loneliness. I will grant you relief from the sorrow you've experienced in this life. Until we meet again, know that I will be forever your guardian in spirit. Always close at hand ~"

"Why does this make me feel sick inside?" Yuuri asked himself out loud.

Thinking Yuuri was speaking to him, Murata responded, "I'm actually agreeing with you on that comment. If you read between the lines, it seems the writer is making decisions…trying to control situations…all behind the scenes as a 'guardian.' But, I'm getting the message that this person wants to be acknowledged, too. Why else send the letters? And that 'end approaches' part worries me most of all." The sage readjusted his glasses. "Who is on the chopping block? Is it your husband? Or is it anyone who stands in 'their' way as supposed lovers?"

"They're not lovers," Yuuri growled, narrowing his eyes at the message with the broken wax seal. "And I don't like where this is going…not at all." Yuuri snatched up the letter from Murata's hands. "I'm taking this to Gwendal now."

"A little grabby, aren't we?"

Stretching like a cat, Murata found his way to the bed and sat down. He scratched his bleached locks in the back with a gentle motion. "I wouldn't advise that."

"Eh?" The rushed double black stopped with his hand on the door handle. He hadn't even noticed that Murata was on the bed until the voice reached him, pulling him out of his tunnel vision. "What are you talking about?" he said incredulously. They had another clue. Finally, there was something new to go on. "We've gotta tell him."

"True, but not right now. It's bed time. This kind of bad news can wait." The double black was still giving the "mouth hanging open" look and the sage sighed at Yuuri's stupidity. "I mean, what would it look like…having The Demon King suddenly rushing out with an oh, so obvious green inked note and storming right to the door of The Royal Consort's brother demanding to be let in at this hour?" He crossed his ankles. "Would it draw unwanted attention? Yes. Could the author of that letter recognize you holding it? Yes. Because we know that, even now, he's being watched by someone from within the castle." Murata cocked his head to the side, observing the reaction on Yuuri's face. He was finally getting it—seeing events beyond his own little "Yuuri bubble" in which being observed didn't matter as long as he got his happy ending. "And if you did what you're planning to do right now… Would people talk about your 'problem' husband more than necessary…?"

"Yes…yes, I know," Yuuri said miserably, walking away from the door defeated. "But, what do I…?"

"Let's forget the bath, put the letter in the same drawer that your husband always did, and go to sleep."

"_Husband." He keeps saying the word, but it feels so…strange…_

"Sleep's what we need after all this…definitely, sleep." He opened the drawer to the night stand and placed his glasses inside. (Though, not before taking a quick look to see what was in there first. Apparently, Wolfram had three small military history journals, two bookmarks, and a well thumbed sketchbook that Murata decided he'd 'investigate' later once he had time.)

On the other side of the bed, Yuuri's body sagged. He was finally feeling the fatigue that had haunted him earlier. Only, with all that had taken place in the garden and, now, with the letter, it was much worse—a stronger pull. That and the fact that he'd had enough.

"I…agree. Let's get some sleep."

* * *

The double black closed his eyes and could feel himself settling down into the cool sheets. It felt good to just lie there, to simply be there and float.

On the edge.

Gently.

Sinking.

Bit by bit.

_At last…_

It was damp and cool against his exposed skin. But, there was no mistaking it. Shibuya Yuuri found himself walking in what appeared to be a dark grey cloud.

Everywhere he looked, it was the same color.

All the same.

With each step, he could feel pebbles and earth scraping the bottom of his geta—an odd, grinding sensation. The high, wooden supports weren't bad but the black material between his toes rubbed horribly. And, briefly, he wondered if these shoes would be a hindrance to him. Yuuri tugged at the front of his plain, black yukata and obi to make sure that his clothing stayed in place.

Now, there was water. A stream of it was lying before him, stretching on lethargically, and the clouds were fading into a grey fog.

_Water._

It wasn't very wide. He could probably jump it in his sneakers without any problems. But, with these geta sandals, he wasn't so confident.

_I should try, though._

Crouching low, knees bent, he gathered his strength and just managed to jump the stream. Landing hard with an undignified "oof," he almost tumbled forward onto his face. For a brief second, Yuuri was grateful that there was no one else around to see that.

He squinted.

Or was there?

Yuuri could make out the image of a grey-green fog covered tree that appeared to have thick green leaves and a wide trunk. It had to be very old with gnarly roots rising up at the base and sinking deep within the ground.

Yuuri approached it only to see a spot of sunny gold at the foot of the tree.

_Gold? Here?_

Curiously, the double black kept walking and, as the gold became more and more pronounced, Yuuri felt himself taking off at a run. He'd lost both geta before he'd taken ten steps. But it didn't matter! It absolutely didn't!

Yuuri ran as hard as he could in bare feet on thick, moist grass. He could slip and fall at any moment, but it was okay!

_Wolfram?! Wolf!_

The sound of breathing in his ears.

A blond head with soft waves turned in his direction at the shout of his name.

"Wolfram!" Yuuri yelled with relief as he dove to a stop next to the blond bishonen sprawled out beneath the tree.

"Damn it, Yuuri," the blond Mazoku complained, "can't you walk with dignity?" Then, he eyed himself and what he was wearing. "You know, I thought the incident with me hanging upside down with the mud balls was bad enough…_but no_! Of course not! Now, I have to endure _this_ as well!"

Wolfram wasn't making any sense, but it didn't matter. He grinned anyway, chest heaving from the run.

"Wolfram!" Yuuri breathed, a bit winded. "I can't believe…" He looked around to see that the fog had cleared and he was now sitting under a tree that had leaves quickly turning from green to gold.

One fell on Wolfram's head and slid down past his right ear.

"Wolf? I…uh…" Another floated down and landed between Wolfram's green eyes. Yuuri chuckled as he brushed it away.

"I guess…this is a dream, huh?"

He sat a little closer to Wolfram, drawing his bare feet up.

Emerald eyes turned in his direction. "Well, you willed me here. I was fine where I was before," he complained with a slight pout coming to him. Another leaf fell on Wolfram. This time, it didn't land on his head but on his white tunic.

_Tunic? Oh…no…_

Yuuri couldn't help but stare when he realized it was the same tunic, no the same _outfit_, that the blond had worn on their wedding day.

Wolfram turned his head away. "Don't look so shocked, wimp," he complained. "After all, you dressed me."

Yuuri took an uncomfortable breath and let it out. "I'm…uh…I'm…"

"Don't bother finishing that sentence."

Yuuri nodded. "I guess…yeah…"

The wind changed direction and gusts tossed his hair. Now, the summer yukata was no longer warm enough. Cold waves hit him as the breeze blew through his clothes and against his skin all too willingly. The double black drew himself up—trying to hide his bare legs and feet under the yukata.

Wolfram observed him. This shivering was annoying and the body next to him curling in upon itself wasn't manly at all.

Green eyes rolled.

"Are you cold?" It was obvious but good manners dictated that he ask.

"Uh…kinda…"

Still lying against the grass, arms and legs sprawled out beneath the tree, Wolfram made a gesture that Yuuri took as a nod. And, he would have laughed at that but he was fighting off a bout of shivers and his breathing came in small, shaky bursts.

"Take my hand," Wolfram directed, finding that he could move his right hand enough to lift it off the ground a centimeter if he really tried. He narrowed his eyes in concentration. "Just…do it."

Yuuri stared at the offered hand and shook his head. "I don't think holding hands will make this place any warmer."

The blond dropped his hand and silently cursed himself for the effort. Still grumbling to himself, he allowed his attention to wander from the scene—wishing he could be anywhere else but here. Unblinking he muttered the words, "Your loss."

Yuuri wrinkled his nose in annoyance. "Just because I don't feel like holding hands in this dream, I…" He looked down at Wolfram. "Oi, are you even listening to me?"

He followed Wolfram's gaze beyond the grassy patch where they were and to the ornately carved red wood and iron bridge that spanned the delightful little brook that cut their hideaway in two.

_That brook had to be the water I jumped over when I first got here_ he realized. In fact, the "grassy patch," as Yuuri decided to think of this place, was slowly turning to spun golds, reds, and oranges. A leaf fell from their tree, made several cartwheels, and ended up in the little brook—now a leafy boat, sailing off for parts unknown. Besides the cold, if it wasn't for the grass turning brown and brittle, slowly crawling in his direction in amber colors, it would have been perfect. He should have been alarmed at the rate the grass was changing color and the direction. But, strangely, he was okay with it.

The breeze blew again, cutting deeper into him this time. Briefly, he thought about moving out from under the shadow of the large tree where the grass was still thick and green. Certainly, the blond bishonen could feel the cold and was simply too stubborn to move.

"Wolfram?" Yuuri said, rubbing his hands on his shoulders to keep from shivering. "Why don't we go into the sunlight and warm up?"

Wolfram turned his face away again. He seemed embarrassed, angry even. "I can't."

Black eyes blinked curiously. "Why not?"

The blond hesitated, wondering if an explanation would really make a difference. Probably not. "Almost every joint in my body has been dislocated. For the most part, I couldn't walk right now even if I tried."

"Wolfram!" Yuuri barked as he reached over for the blond's forearm. The entire arm itself bent in an unsupported, unnatural way. The double black almost screamed. Instead, he put a hand to his mouth. "How?" came the muffled question. "How can this be? You should be in pain or something right now!"

The bishonen grimaced back slightly, again, trying to decide whether or not it would be good to say more. But, Yuuri was expecting an explanation. So, with reservations, he went on. "Mercifully, I'm not…but this is what you've made of me."

"I-I…did?" Rattled by the news, Yuuri leaned away suddenly, scraping his back painfully against the tree. Jerking at the rough bark carving into him, he straightened and stiffened up—looking more like a wimp to Wolfram than ever before and he knew it. "I'm-I'm…_sorry_. I don't know how I did this but…" Yuuri reached for Wolfram's hand to comfort him and, in an instant, he felt warm—like walking into a sauna.

Wolfram's gaze seemed weary. "When I offered you my hand earlier," he explained, "it was to keep you warm. I wasn't going to hold your hand out of pity."

"Pity?" He took a shaky breath, knowing the truth. "Look, Wolfram, I'm so sor…"

"Don't say 'sorry.' I hate that word."

Sadly, the double black nodded. The wind blew against him again, more leaves fell, but the cold never reached him. Yuuri pulled Wolfram's hand in between his own, pressing warmth into it. He wondered if, now, only the blond could feel the cold. He thought about asking, but was certain that, either way, he wouldn't get the whole truth.

The pearls at the wrist of the long, white sleeve felt smooth against the double black's fingers, bringing to mind something his mother always said, "A bride will cry one tear for every pearl on her wedding dress." Black eyes combed Wolfram's wedding clothes—pearls. There were so many at the throat, wrists, and hem.

"So…how do I…help you, Wolfram?" His head was bowed. _I know this is only a dream, but…_

"You can't."

Yuuri gripped his hand. "I want to…really… Look what I've done to you…even if I didn't mean to."

Green met black. And seeing the sincerity there, Wolfram found himself softening. This was Yuuri—typical Yuuri—the adventure seeker, the kind and loving monarch, the infuriating best friend incarnate, and the easily guilt-ridden teenager. "You're doing all that you can right now." He tried to shrug but it just came out awkward, so he added, "Be content with that."

Wolfram's attention drifted to the bridge again. Yuuri watched him with growing concern and squeezed his hand.

The soft moan of the wind met his ears with the shimmering sound of the leaves as they continued to float downward. It was so quiet between them. And, it was awful. "It's a nice bridge, huh?" Yes, he needed some conversation—even if he came out stupid. "Right, Wolf?"

The double black began to panic quietly inside. What if Wolfram didn't want to speak to him anymore? What if it ended like this and he couldn't convey his feelings—how sorry he was?

"Oi, Yuuri?"

"Yes?" He smiled back, only too glad to hear Wolfram speak his name.

"Do you know the story about Isaac and Alinda?"

"Well…ummm…"

That got Yuuri a slight frown. "Does Günter teach you nothing? Everybody knows this story."

"Famous, huh?" He scooted in a little closer to Wolfram and the blond pretended not to notice.

"Yes…I'd say so."

Wolfram was talking to him. He needed him to go on—keep saying words to him. With each sentence, the double black felt better. "Well," Yuuri asked with his head tilted curiously to the side, "how does it go?"

The blond seemed to consider the request in much the same way he did with Greta when she asked for a third bedtime story so that she could stay up later. Giving in, also in much the same way he did with Greta, he began, "In the dark days…before Shin Makoku was united by The Original King…there…"

"Oi, Wolfram?" He chuckled with his hand over his mouth and profile turned slightly. He knew it would just eat the blond alive to see him laugh now.

"Don't interrupt me," the bishonen griped, spotting the chuckling frame and feeling annoyance twisting in his gut as a result. "You asked!" and then he twitched because his natural gesture would have been to point at the person irritating him. Sadly, his lithe frame refused to cooperate. "And I was telling the story the way it always starts."

"Oh, sorry about that. But, you were kind of… _funny_…making it sound all dramatic and stuff. Kinda like Günter and all…"

He lifted his head up, eyes bulging. "Ehhhh??? _Günter_?"

"Yes!"

Wolfram let his head fall back on the grass in exasperation. "Why bother?"

"No, please," Yuuri pleaded with a polite edge, bringing in his face close. So close, in fact, that he could feel Yuuri's breath on the bridge of his nose. It tickled slightly—but in a good way. "Please…?"

"Can I start now?" the bishonen wondered out loud.

"Yes."

"You sure?"

"Yes."

"Positive?"

"Well…yeah." Yuuri nodded, in a half bow, to get his point across. Okay, so maybe it wasn't quite so funny anymore because Wolfram seemed irritated with him.

"Are you going to interrupt me again?" A blond eyebrow wiggled.

This was getting ridiculous. "Oh!! Just get on with it!"

"I was before _you_ interrupted."

Yuuri wanted to shake a fist but held back, squeezed Wolfram's hand a little tighter than necessary, composed himself, and said in a strained voice, "_Please go on_."

"Well, if you insist…"

Inside his head, Yuuri screamed.

The grassy patch, and all within its realm, shook hard. A shower of brown and gold leaves fell—half-burying a certain blond who was not ambulatory. And, understandably, his reaction was…_loud_. "What, the hell, is this?!" Wolfram bellowed at the top of his lungs, trying to writhe at the rumbling sound only to bury himself deeper in his bed of dried vegetation.

"Earthquake!" Yuuri yelled, covering Wolfram with his own body—now crunching leaves between them and making Wolfram's wedding clothes smudged in brown. "Don't worry, Wolf, I'm here!"

Small, sticklike branches fell on top of them. But, soon, it slowed to a stop and the tree's few remaining leaves made a soft shushing sound in relief.

"What were you doing?" Wolfram griped, nose to nose with Yuuri and thoroughly pissed.

He took a sudden gasping-breath. "Eh? Are you saying I made the earthquake?"

"Not just that, Yuuri! The scream, too! I heard it!" Wolfram spat out the remains of a half-crumbled brown leaf lodged in the corner of his mouth.

"Eh? You could hear that?" Yuuri couldn't believe it. He'd done that hundreds of times in his head since the day he'd slapped Wolfram and become accidentally engaged as a result. This was the first time anybody had commented on it.

"I think that should be obvious," Wolfram gritted out, wishing dearly he could get that ringing out of his head. There were tiny pops of light accompanying it.

Yuuri rolled off Wolfram. "Oh…right…this is a…dream and all." He chuckled nervously, a hand behind his head. It was going to get awkward again. He just knew it. "So, uh…" He flashed back to the story. "That story you were going to tell…please go on ahead…" He dusted off Wolfram's chest in much the same way that the blond did to him on a daily basis. Only, to his distress, the stains wouldn't leave or lighten.

Wolfram sighed, feeling thoroughly put out. "Just give it up…and I mean everything."

"No, really…" He tightened his grip on Wolfram's hand.

Against his better judgment, he gave in to the wobbly eyes staring at him. It was a look he'd given into time and time again—which made him hate himself just a little bit more. "Fine," the blond went on, thinking that if he could talk maybe, just maybe, Yuuri would have something to entertain him until the dream ended.

The blond hoped it would be soon.

"In the dark days before Shin Makoku was united by The Original King…there was a young noble named Isaac who was living in a castle that was constantly at war with its neighbor on the other side of a roaring river. On New Year's Eve, Isaac had a dream of a stone bridge that spanned a clear body of water. He had never seen such a bridge before—a bridge covered with candles, vines and flowers. On the second night, he returned to the dream and the bridge only to see a beautiful woman waiting on the other side dressed all in gold but with a blue veil covering her face. And, immediately, he was enchanted. As the nights passed, Isaac was able to coax the woman onto the bridge to meet him half way. As they grew to know each other, Isaac convinced the woman to lower her veil so that he could gaze upon her beautiful face. And, in time, he learned that her name was Alinda and that, sadly, she dwelled in the enemy's castle as the lord's youngest daughter."

Yuuri's eyes widened in much the same way that Greta's always did during storytime. He scooted closer still to Wolfram, his hands warm. "And then what?"

"Each night, they would meet in the dream…standing on the bridge…wrapped in each other's arms. And, each day, they'd awaken and tell themselves how ridiculous it was to cling to a dream lover." Wolfram's gaze was fixed on the bridge again. "Nothing changed."

"Didn't they ever try to find each other?"

Wolfram smiled slightly. "No. What would be the point?" Wolfram felt another squeeze of the hand and, this time, he squeezed back a little—making Yuuri smile at him.

"And, then, one night," Wolfram went on, "Isaac went to the bridge but Alinda never appeared."

"Really?"

"Yes." Wolfram glanced briefly at the double black. "He called to her…over and over…pleading for her to appear…but nothing. Finally, he went to the bridge… with the intention of crossing it… when he looked into the water and saw a blue veil floating. That's when he woke up."

Another squeeze of his hand urging him to finish.

"When Isaac woke up in his bed, he was told by his adviser that, during the night, their castle had overrun the neighboring castle and that they had slaughtered everyone inside. Time to celebrate. They had peace at last." Green eyes turned to Yuuri. "Isaac rode to the castle to see for himself. No one had survived…of course. But he did find a bloodied blue veil in one of the bedrooms."

Yuuri lowered his head a little. "That seems so sad. You know…" He put a hand to his chin in thought. "If they'd just decided to call a truce between the castles and arranged a marriage between Isaac and Alinda…" He glanced a bit nervously at Wolfram. "I-I mean…they were already in love, right? Then, there would be peace anyway and everyone could live happily."

Wolfram grinned at him. "You know, that was the same argument that I gave my tutors eons ago when I first heard the story." He let out a little sigh. "But, according to them, the whole point of the story is that love doesn't last and that you have to live for the moment…even if it isn't real." Wolfram turned his face into the wind. "I could never get those old literature stories right. The tutors could always see things that I couldn't. Or, maybe, I just didn't want to."

The blond turned to Yuuri again, but something in his eyes seemed lost and sad.

"What's the matter?" the double black asked. He glanced down at the hand he was still holding. "I kind of feel there's something…else…"

"You know, I've been thinking…actually, it's all I have time for these days…"

Yuuri's lips toyed with smiling. The real Wolfram was probably dozing in Shinou's Temple. He hoped that the tears had stopped by now.

"When we first met, you didn't know that slapping me was a marriage proposal. And, at the time, I hated you. To make matters worse, I could feel the pressure put upon us to wed as soon as possible. And, what you didn't know at the time, because you were too new to Shin Makoku, was that the whole court was pressuring us to get married—and no one more so than my uncle, Waltorana, who wanted a direct link to the throne." Wolfram closed his eyes as he continued to speak. It was just too hard to look at Yuuri. "I resented you…someone I thought to be worthless because you were too different, too unconventional, too _wimpy_…"

"Oi, I'm not a wimp," Yuuri said half-heartedly.

The blond gave a weak chuckle. "And, then, once I got to know you…the _real_ you… Things changed. I felt…inside…" Wolfram glanced away for a second. "Well, let's just say that I became no better than the rest of them: Mother, uncle, Gwendal…"

Yuuri's eyes shot wide open. "Gwendal? I thought he didn't like me so much. I'm always skipping out on paperwork."

Wolfram peeked at him. "You've got black hair, black eyes, and a cute, huggable body. Of course, he'd pressure me indirectly to marry you."

Yuuri felt himself blush at the complements. "Um…I…uh…"

"But I did fall for you on my own," Wolfram confessed and saw, from peeking at him again, the double black's head lower slightly to hide his face. "And, in doing so, I became the worst of them, Yuuri—no longer feeling the pressure to marry from others because the pressure was coming, now, directly from me."

Wolfram opened his eyes and stared at the bridge again. "I know what you said back at the baths the morning after our wedding and I know that you've tried to negotiate some sort of… Well, I'd call it 'peace,' between us because you want us both to be happy…"

The double black immediately brightened. He gripped Wolfram's hand harder. "Yes! You've got that right."

He swallowed thickly before asking, "Is it _right_…though?"

"Eh?"

"Doesn't this cast you in the role of the villain? The faithless lover? If you reject me, that is…" Maybe, this question was more for himself than for Yuuri.

"Wha-?" Yuuri said, confused. They were already married, so he couldn't see where this was coming from.

Wolfram narrowed his eyes at a point far, far away—carefully picking his words. "Has it never…ever…occurred to you that they've never given you the chance to love anyone other than…me? At the start, other people, holding to tradition, decided that we'd be together and, in the end, I simply followed along with it as you showed me the world…and new things to care about… New people to care about?" He thought of Greta. How much would he have missed out on had he continued to hate humans? "Was that fair to you or to me?"

Yuuri blinked at him. "You're not making any sense. You're the one who constantly chases me through the castle yelling 'flirt' and 'cheater' as though I'd just done those things."

Wolfram smiled thinly. "Well, according to Mazoku culture…one which you rarely bother to study…you actually are doing those things."

For a second, the blond thought he heard a "Grrr…." coming from Yuuri as a response.

"Losing you has always been…" _My deepest fear._ The blond blinked back a tear. "…A deep concern." He breathed out slowly, making an uncomfortable pause between them. "But is it fair…to you…to remain married to someone you don't…need? Don't…_want_?"

The words were true and a little too honest. Yuuri bit his lower lip. He didn't want to talk about this now—or, maybe, ever.

Green eyes narrowed. "Is it fair for others to dictate that you must love me by default?"

Something cold ran though Yuuri which had nothing to do with the wind around them—blowing away the leaves and revealing just how close they were next to each other.

"Yuuri, you deserve a life. You deserve to have fun with a variety of people. Enjoy little love affairs and moments that never truly last. Build memories."

The blond looked at him kindly this time. But the same expression wasn't returned. In fact, the king was wearing a disbelieving frown on his face.

"I suppose, you've had a few 'affairs,' huh?" Yuuri said with an edge, not entirely buying into it.

"I'm in my eighties, Yuuri," Wolfram said honestly. "I enjoyed myself quite a bit before you came here. I was just terribly discrete." Then, he smiled and said, "And, I'll bet you still haven't kissed anyone yet…besides me on our wedding day, that is."

"I have so!"

Wolfram was not persuaded in the slightest. "Your mother doesn't count, Yuuri."

The double black squared back his shoulders. "I'll have you know that I've kissed…and more than once!"

The blond laughed a little. "I'm sure it was some girl in preschool." With a snort, he added sarcastically, "You lucky dog."

The frown that met Wolfram seemed to say "I'm telling the truth, so don't question it." So, the blond backed off a little from the teasing. "Fine, fine…I believe you…"

"Good!"

"Nonetheless," the blond resumed, "I think that once this is over with…once I'm better…" He forced a smile on his face. "We need to come to an understanding."

Black eyes blinked. "An under…"

"I don't want anyone to blame you for decisions you were never allowed to make in the first place. You're not a bad person, Yuuri. You're just…young. And, in my heart, I can't fault you for never really having the chance to live and explore." The blond smiled sadly. "Fall in love a few times. Play by your own rules. Do what you want…because you want it." Something small dropped into the palm of Yuuri's hand. "If we let go of each other a little bit at a time…it won't be so bad."

"Wolfram, I…uh…" He glanced into his palm only to see a ring—Wolfram's wedding ring. Without looking up, he said, "Wolfram, you love this. You can't give it back to me."

"I love it…and hate it."

The double black looked down only to see that Wolfram's sleeping form lying next to him was covered in a soft, grey dust. He tried to wipe away the ash from alabaster cheeks, but the efforts only made it worse. It was soot now and it deepened to the point where Wolfram was entirely one ashy color.

"Wol- ?"

He touched the sweet face again and the body crumbled in upon itself like cooling cigar ash and the rest of the body followed, billowing—pouring—inwardly.

"Wolfram?" Yuuri's broken voice called, scared—his fingers filthy now as he dug in and the grey flakes fell between his fingers. "No! Stop this! No!"

And, with the next gust, Wolfram's ashes were stolen by the wind.

Freezing cold, his fingers clutched the neck closed to his yukata, painting grey smudges against his skin and clothes.

Alone now, he turned to the sky crying, "WOLFRAM!"

* * *

"W-Wolf!" Heart beating hard, Yuuri half sat up in bed while someone was knocking at his chamber door. Mind in a fog, it didn't register with him until the door swung open and in bound Günter saying, "And we're scheduled to have lunch today at eleven, Heika, with my friend, Claus Eberstark. Am I right?"

Murata, who had been lying on his stomach the whole time with his face buried in his arms and sheets pooled low around his waist, panicked. He flung himself onto Yuuri with a terrified, pleading look—never mind that Yuuri had one, too, and hadn't cleared the cobwebs out from his dream first.

"Wha-? Oh…Oh, yeah…"

Taking the sage into his arms, he buried Murata Ken's face protectively against his chest. "Could you give us a little more time?" he asked Günter with a growing blush.

"Newlyweds and all…ya know." He mumbled the last part begrudgingly, taking note that _this blond_ smelled nothing like Wolfram's sunflowers and lavender. Instead, the sage had a light, musky scent that didn't please him at all but, instead, made him feel sad—like he'd lost something precious to him.

The adviser's eyes widened at the request and he left with a handkerchief to his nose, wiping away light smears of blood. As much as Günter _was not_ fond of Wolfram, he thought the two of them looked great together—in bed—with Wolfram naked from the waist up and blankets barely clinging to the lower half.

The double black relaxed once he caught the sound of the door closing. "Why aren't you wearing Wolfram's nightie?"

A chuckle answered.

"Well?"

Murata murmured against Yuuri's chest, "We have got to stop meeting like this."

* * *


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

.

.

"It doesn't seem to be my day, huh?"

Murata was bored to tears—again. And his latest plaything, an Anissina designed "Throw-Fireballs-like-a-Lord-Loafer-Kun," belched acrid smoke and burst apart on the third fireball he lobbed out the bedroom door that morning (which was just to keep up appearances).

Still in Wolfram's nightgown, Murata had to hide his face behind some rather large pillows when the guards came rushing in. Luckily, Anissina was there, too. And she was enough of a distraction that they were more than willing to go back to their posts in record time—leaving him to open the windows and fan the room out.

Thus, the excitement was over and no toys to play with.

He huffed in Wolframish frustration. (Well, at least, he had that part down right. And it felt a bit strange because it came so naturally now.)

Since this scheme started, the only fun had come from taking meals with Yuuri in "their bedroom." But, he didn't have to be "The Great and All-Knowing Sage of Shin Makoku" to realize that Yuuri wasn't enjoying their time together. More and more, he came to see a kind of "polite reluctance" turn into almost open dread regarding their private moments.

Was it him? The plan? Something else? Or, rather _someone else_…Yuuri was missing?

Add to the fact that Yuuri, Günter, and Claus Eberstark would be having an early lunch in the rose garden. This meant that he'd be eating alone—on his own—with nothing to entertain him but four walls.

Murata, briefly, recalled his housewife lives when he'd be home with the fussy, six to eight snot-nosed children all day long. He would look forward to meeting up with a long absent husband who, in turn, wanted nothing more than to come home to a hot dinner and a soft bed. No talking involved. Just food and sleep. That was all. Murata chuckled at those past lives and how seriously everything was taken back then. It was frustrating to be a housewife. But, ironically, those "throw a frying pan at the dense husband moments" were the good times that he held onto—even now—when he felt disconnected.

The sage sat back on the bed. _Good times, huh?_

He remembered long ago—now that he felt it was safe to do so—and recalled the Original Sage and his life with Shinou. Back at the temple, he was afraid to reminisce. He was never certain if bringing up such memories would somehow call Shinou's spirit to him from the very walls of the temple.

_It would be like him to do that, though._

While Shinou seemed legitimately enthralled with him even though he'd done nothing to deserve it, his own feelings were heavy and mixed these days.

Being "sage" and having the so called "honor" of housing that precioussoul was both a treat and a burden. Despite rumors to the contrary, he could only remember major events but not individual "days" from beginning to end in all of his past lives. He could recall every name he ever went by and all of his spouses—both male and female. Murata knew their stories the same way someone could recall the plot to "The Tale of Genji." But, his emotional bond to the people he once knew—including his once beloved children—simply wasn't there anymore. _But, I should love them still…_ Murata felt extremely guilty for that and pushed the feeling away on an almost daily basis. It was his way of making the intolerable more tolerable. Surely, being forced to remember his past lives, every book he'd ever read, and every map he'd ever seen could be used as a torture from the gods. Logically, though, it was a way of preserving knowledge so that kings would benefit and lives would be saved.

He knew that.

He'd written it down in his logs and journals over the centuries. Once, he even explained that being the "sage" was like being "salt." Pour salt onto thinly cut meat and it preserves the meat. Pour salt into soup and the soup tastes better. But, what he never mentioned was that salt alone tastes bad.

_Alone_. Murata was growing weary of this life all too soon for a myriad of reasons.

He understood that this plan would keep the loud-mouthed, blond bishonen alive. But, what he didn't like was the method. Shinou, as habit dictated, meddled way too much—and, this time, he even went so far as to strong-arm his sage by saying the words "I could try. Do you want me to?" in front of a fallen, poisoned Wolfram on the stone floor of the fountain room. (Any answer other than "Yes!" would be morally wrong, he knew.) However, Shinou would probably toss his head coyly and provide some sort of counterargument like, "And you do not meddle enough. Are you truly a sage? Or is it that you tire of offering advice that Yuuri Heika ignores?"

Ah, a low blow. But, that's what they were always like together.

The arguments were personal and the jabs, even in front of others, seemed innocent enough unless you understood the full context. Then, they were painful and bordered on cruel.

Murata stretched out on the bed fully. "Shinou." What a series of headaches he had become. And, in the beginning, he hated the sight of the handsome, blond spirit. Lately, however, he seemed to have softened. He thought that, possibly, Shinou had simply won by attrition. But, as the months passed, he'd come to the conclusion that Murata Ken simply could not hold a grudge for very long—especially since the "wrong" that was done really had nothing to do with him and everything to do with "The Original Sage." It was just that the first sage internalized all of his sorrow, loneliness, resentment, and self-loathing into a single space in his heart with too much pride to voice it.

And it _was_ pride.

Murata let his head fall back onto Wolfram's favorite feather pillow and he imagined himself as his body once was—long, black hair like a thick curtain, long nose, jet eyes, lengthy body, and dark robes. He always had a book in one hand and, no matter what he was reading, that prop became useful. It made him seem to on lookers as a highly cerebral creature. He was, in fact, very well educated. But, in truth, the book gave him something to hold—something _to do_—when he felt uneasy.

And Shinou loved making him uneasy.

There were, in fact, two "Shinous"—the public one and the private one. In public, all of his Mazoku speech was perfect, formal, and noble. He played the part of a king well and, in the end, he became the character that he created for the people of Shin Makoku. The sage was quite proud of him for the most part. There were times when he got drunk at the feasts and the sage would have his bottles of wine thrown away and bottles of spring water substituted. Shinou always noticed the more than obvious "hint" and quit drinking before he lost control and somebody would end up at the healer's. That didn't mean that they didn't have "words" about it when everybody went home, though.

And the sage always won.

The "private" Shinou was more contemplative. It was almost as though he could see into the hearts of the courtiers around him. He would make light of the political social climbing of the day when it was just the two of them. The Original Sage had his own quarters and a private library set aside just for him. But, what most inhabitants of Blood Pledge Castle knew was that Shinou's quarters had a separate room that he had put aside for no one else other than _his sage_. The official excuse was that they needed to plan well into the night on some evenings, and it just made sense that the two of them remained together. However, most of the time, the sage slept there for no other reason than the simple fact that Shinou wished it.

On winter evenings, with a bottle of wine and two goblets between them and the fire, the pair would sit and talk quietly together over politics and courtly life. The sage could feel himself growing more and more attached to his king. It was a bad thing, he reminded himself. Making a "family" of the two of them would be a mistake in the long run because it could never truly happen. Once, the sage even went so far as to tell Shinou that their "evenings together" would eventually come to an end and that, eventually, he would have to choose someone more worthy of him to stay by his side.

Murata remembered Shinou's ringing laugh. Through all of his lives and reincarnations, that laugh to that one comment stayed vivid.

"Such an ass…"

Murata punched the pillow next to him. Shinou was, in fact, an excellent kisser and he was good at "other things." Murata shook his head hard, remembering what came next.

As foretold, the nobles had gotten together and decided that the king should wed. Shinou fought and, twice, bellowed that it was "his life" and, as king, he should choose to marry whomever he wished. Several dozen names—both male and female—were mentioned openly by the court. None of them, however, included the sage.

Shinou knew that it must have hurt his beautiful sage's pride. It was common knowledge how they were together even though a traveler on the street would never even hazard a guess that the "bickering friends" passing by, in fact, were more than that. And their deep commitment to each other was simply there, lying quietly beneath the surface, as The Great Sage admonished and The Original King gleefully defended himself.

But it didn't stop. The suggestions and polite hints went on.

And Shinou, growing weary of it all, made his decision.

For the first day of spring, it was still cold in Shin Makoku. The Original King summoned all of the nobles, both far and wide, for an announcement. Word spread through the halls and corridors of the castle like a tidal wave. Shinou would be discussing marriage. The rest was pure conjecture and the betting pools got larger.

Leaving his private quarters, The Great Sage himself was both curious and nervous about what pronouncement the king would make. Now that the land was relatively peaceful, the nobles were scrambling for power and making attempts to rid themselves of a "sage" they intended to trot out for militaristic discussions only.

Entering through the doors of the Throne Room, he was stunned, to say the least, to see blond haired Rufus Bielefeld standing proudly next to her king in a dark blue, royal length dress which draped the floor in thick folds of silk.

He knew. It was clear.

With pain tearing into him with sharp claws, he still managed to smooth out his features—especially with the heavy stares he was receiving from everyone in the densely packed Throne Room.

This was it. This was the end. Maybe, it was for the best that the echo from the stone floor made the din in the room oppressive. It was so hard to think as he took up his usual position on Shinou's opposite side.

But, "thinking" wasn't required of him on this day. Not this time, at least.

Shinou had chosen one of his most trusted people—a woman, in fact, who was their greatest spy. She could appear convincingly as either male or female. She'd brought news and infiltrated enemy encampments. There was no one better, more honored, more decorated or trusted than she was.

_I hate her_, his soul whispered. And, in a flash, he chastised himself. The kingdom came first. His own desires came second. Had Shinou not taken him in when he knew that troubling times were ahead? Villagers, more than once, had blamed him for any evils—real or imaginary—which took place simply because of his jet black hair and eyes.

This is for the greater good.

_But I hate Rufus for this._

We need to build a kingdom. We need to form a government from this rebellious cluster of villages.

_My life is over now. My home is gone. I'm alone again._

Sacrifice is necessary.

_Why didn't he tell me about Rufus? Why?_

The sage stiffened his face once Shinou calmed the excited crowd down and began to speak. "I understand that the court and the people wish for me to marry and be happy."

There was a general murmur around the room in agreement. They needed to continue Shinou's line for generations to come.

"I, on the other hand, have tried to explain that I am reluctant to do so. And for good reasons."

All eyes drifted to the sage. There had been a rumor that he'd been the one to advise Shinou _against_ marriage—against linking himself by blood and/or politics to any of the high ranking noble families.

The sage sighed, openly feigning boredom. Did he really need this?

"So, I have decided that I shall be married to…" He smirked to the group. He was going to love this next bit. "I shall be married to my country."

Everyone, including the sage, uttered a disbelieving "_What?_" which filled the room for more than a few seconds.

Shinou drew his sword, placed his hand upon the edge, and sliced his palm open. Blood dripped down in spatters. "This is my solemn vow."

The audience, including all of the nobles, watched in wonder as the bloodied sword blade was wiped off and returned to the scabbard.

"But, my dearest Rufus," and he reached over to take her hand with the hand not bleeding, "has agreed to become my Royal Concubine and retire from service so that she may raise my future children." He cocked his beautiful head to one side. "Now, does that satisfy everyone?"

The sage simply stood there with his mouth firmly clamped shut because having it hang open would be undignified. No, it didn't satisfy him, but it did solve a few political problems. He glanced over to Rufus who seemed legitimately happy at the high honor of being the mother of Shinou's children even though she could never have the legitimate role of "queen." Some secret, selfish, nagging little part of himself cheered and, instantly, he hated himself.

Proudly, Shinou turned to his beautiful, dark sage with eyes that seemed to say, "Didn't I do well with this?"

Murata could remember the sage blinking back, not knowing for the very first time in his life how to react. He recovered quickly enough, with the noisy nobles watching with sharp eyes and loud "whispers" regarding the trio before them.

Both Shinou and Rufus wore pleased expressions as the sage gave a short, polite bow in compliance.

"The king has ordered," he said evenly as the couple laced fingers, "so must it be."

Murata turned over onto his stomach in a single "flop." He hated that memory. It haunted him most when he'd see Wolfram and Yuuri together, chatting quietly in their amicable moments. Maybe, that was why he encouraged the fun but chaotic times between them.

Why did Wolfram von Bielefeld have to look so much like Shinou?

"I wonder," Murata asked lazily, "Had The Original Sage been emotionally fiery and temperamental…instead of academic and aloof…what might have been the result of that moment with Shinou and Rufus?" Then a smile twitched on his lips. _Better yet…_ "What if Shibuya had done that to Lord Wolfram von Bielefeld? Would our blond fight openly for the heart of a king at the cost of the country's future, or would he accept last place in his heart?"

Being last is more than being forgotten. It's being invisible.

Would any advice help in that situation? Could a sage do anything? The Original Sage was certainly at a loss at the time…

"Von Bielefeld," Murata said as he opened the drawer containing Wolfram's sketchbook "our lives are difficult and I blame Shinou's meddling…not that I can prove most of it. Then again, I'm certain he wouldn't have it any other way."

* * *

Most people assumed Wolfram von Bielefeld couldn't draw. It wasn't true. Wolfram couldn't paint well, but he was quite skilled with drawing.

Impressed with the rough talent in terms of line, shading, and perspective, Murata gave a brief whistle as he examined the images.

Page one was simply scrawled "Standpoint." Nothing more.

The second page was something worth looking at. It was a sketch of Greta. It filled the page. On the right side, it was the way she looked when he first met her. She was wearing a slightly threadbare dress and hair in loose, shaggy curls. On the left, she was older and sporting a frilly summer dress that Murata had seen before—a gift from Yuuri's mother, Jennifer. The child's hair was perfect and her smile much brighter. Clearly, this was a child who was loved.

The third page was a trio: Conrad, Lady Cheri, and Gwendal. They were having tea in the garden and the roses were half filled in. Apparently, Wolfram was more interested in his primary subjects than the background. There was a half drawn, faceless servant pouring tea. Murata smiled.

The following pages were wedding themed with a five tiered wedding cake. The reception appeared to be in The Grand Ballroom at Blood Pledge Castle. Murata sat up in bed with a greedy little snicker. He was certain that Yuuri had never seen this one. What fun! He scanned the pages for faces that he knew. The groom, Yuuri, was dressed in the traditional kingly robes and standing next to the cake with a glass of something bubbly in his hand. Greta, wearing a long gown, was eating a cookie at the buffet table and getting crumbs down the front of her dress. Günter and Gissela were having a quiet chat, it seemed. Conrad, Yozak—dressed as a man this time—Gwendal, and Lady Cheri were near the hastily sketched outline of an orchestra. Murata chuckled again.

And, in the corner, by himself—Wolfram—in his usual clothes.

The blond was supposed to be wearing a white tunic adorned in crystals or pearls with a long, white cape draping down. "You're not the groom?" Murata breathed. "This is supposed to be your wedding reception, Lord von Bielefeld-Shibuya. How can you not be the groom?" He narrowed his eyes to see who Yuuri had wed in Wolfram's sketch, but there was no one. And, then, Murata recalled that, in actuality, Wolfram had never even attended his own wedding reception. He'd gone off and gotten drunk—so the whole kingdom knew by now—with Yozak. Well, technically, Yozak was supposed to be looking in on him. But the rumor mill had been working overtime and Murata knew that it would be entirely possible that history would record this situation in a scandalous light.

Not that Yuuri would care.

Other sketches littered the pages haphazardly: Yuuri watching TV, Yuuri brushing his teeth, and Yuuri up to his waist in water in The Royal Baths. (Yes, he'd even drawn nipples—which made Murata grin despite his somber feelings.)

Wolfram drew himself a few times. There were moments that he looked like a young "Shinou." And there were moments when he was the perfect reincarnation of Rufus. That thought pained Murata—especially with the attentions that Shinou lavished on him when he felt in the mood. Briefly, the sage toyed with the idea of Shinou's genes bringing unhappiness to his descendants. But, he brushed the thought away. It was a cruel notion and he was too close to Shinou, Wolfram, and Yuuri to have an unbiased viewpoint. Plus, he was still a teenager himself in this life. What did he know about love? There were no fresh memories and his heart had never felt anything real for anyone.

"No…That's not entirely true," he admitted bitterly to himself as he flipped the next page. "Shinou and I…are complicated." Yes, he'd leave it at that.

Then, he glanced down at the page.

"Damn, not again."

The image that he saw wasn't pleasant, but it was supposed to be. And he was more than certain that Wolfram would be furious with him for having this little peek into his soul.

The detailed sketch spanned two pages. Yuuri was standing on a platform with twisting streamers, confetti falling, and flowers. He was cradling a sweet little bundle with a sleeping child's face peeping out. "A christening ceremony." There was a woman next to him, seemingly smiling but her features were not entirely drawn in—more generic than anything—with a towering, pleased Conrad standing on the other side. Murata saw himself, too, with a mischievous smile. And, at the far end, with a smooth expression that exactly mirrored Gwendal's, stood Wolfram.

Murata ran his fingers over Wolfram's image. He was dressed richly, but he was not in his military uniform. His hair was longer, tied back in a white bow, and draped down the back—again, like Gwendal's. Murata didn't know if the eyes were intentionally dull or if the artist simply didn't know how to draw them well.

_But, still…_

"Wolfram," Murata almost sighed, "is this the future you saw for yourself?"

Now, it was more than curiosity that fed him, but he was to be disappointed. The following pages held sketches of soldiers, battlefields, and militaristic weapons of war—ones he had personal knowledge of and ones more commonly used by the humans that he'd seen at a distance. There were little notations, too, such as "Hold a sword this way, and you will die. The correct way is to…" Murata flipped through those the way he did with cheesy, shojo mangas. But he stopped at the final page. There were six people sketched. The older man looked like a more handsome version of Waltorana von Bielefeld. But, instead of the usual blue earrings, there was only one—a small hoop—high in the left ear. The face was handsomely ragged and needed a shave. There was a pirate-like hint to it, too. "A ship's captain?" That had to be Wolfram's deceased father. His eyes moved to the woman who was wearing a modest dress with expensive lace flowing from the long sleeves. It wasn't true to life, but it was what Wolfram really wanted his mother to wear. "Lady Cheri." He found Wolfram's profile, proud and boyish but with a warmth from the angle and the curve of the smile. Conrad and Gwendal were there, too, as oversized, shadowed forms in the background. And, finally, Greta's profile—happy as ever with a childish grin. The words scrawled at the bottom of the page: "My Family."

_I guess, in the end, you finally accepted your place. _

Without notice, the door swung open and Yuuri slunk in with an exhausted expression. "Lunch with Claus Eberstark was such a…" Then he froze, his legs refusing to work and his eyes were comically wide. He stood there gaping until his mind finally caught up with what he was seeing—Murata in bed with Wolfram's open sketchbook in his lap.

"DISASTER!"

His heart was drumming incredibly fast now.

"WHAT ARE YOU… _DOING_?!" Yuuri didn't intend to shout but that was what happened. And Murata had made him.

A brief rap.

"Sire, do you have _need_ of anything?" one guard's muffled voice came through the door.

"Uh, no!" Yuuri called back but, just as quickly, he turned around with a finger pointed at Murata, ordering him to behave. "It's nothing I can't handle… Knowing who shares this room with me, I should be used to it by now!"

"Sire, should you and your Royal Consort need anything…?" He let the rest of the suggestion hang in the air.

"No thanks!"

Yuuri stormed over, yanked the sketchbook, and banged it shut. "Do you know what he'll do if he finds out you've been looking at this?" Yuuri hissed with a mixture of anger, fear, and dread. It was the same tone Shori had taken with Yuuri years ago when he found a "Penthouse Magazine" at the local 7-Eleven store while their dad was supposed to be watching them.

The double black opened the drawer and asked hastily, "In what position was it in when you took it out?"

"Dunno." Then the blond flopped out on the bed in a lazy way that he hoped would needle his friend. "But, I think this is more your problem than mine. After all, you guys decided that I had to be here. It's not my fault that…"

"Y-You're too noisy. Be quiet!" Yuuri wanted to rip his hair out, he was so worried. This sketchbook was still shaking in his hot little hands. What if he left fingerprints? "Horrible!" the double black eeped out. The book, he understood, was more like Wolfram's diary than an actual drawing book. It was deeply personal and he knew not to ever touch the drawer let alone the hand bound book itself. More than once, he'd entered unexpectedly only to see an unreadable expression on Wolfram's face just before coming back to himself and smacking the book closed.

"Did you drop off that poisoned letter we found at your brother-in-law's this morning?" the sage asked with an edge to it. He enjoyed reminding Yuuri about the accidental marriage.

He got a distracted "humph" that he decided to interpret as "Why, yes, Murata. I did."

Yuuri did his best to calm himself and tune his friend out for the moment. This was all too much—too much to handle, too many questions. Could the words just stop so he could think?

"Shibuya?"

Silence.

"Shibuya? Did you hear me?"

He decided to give it another go.

"As I asked a minute ago," Murata repeated "what was Claus Eberstark like?" It wasn't as good as a nice, long lunch conversation, but the sage decided to get what he could.

The drawer slammed shut and the double black straightened to look at the sage. Now that the sketchbook was back where it belonged and the drawer firmly closed, Yuuri could take a long breath and let it out.

"You're trying to distract me from being mad," he pointed out. He'd learned from experience.

A wink. "Call it curiosity…humor me."

Yuuri decided to let the stress go as he thought back on it. "Well, he looks a lot like I'd expect Gunther's uncle to look like—if he had one—ya know, kinda the same shaped face but with really short, white hair…" He scratched his chin a little. "Soft voice… Got some chickenpox scars on his face, I think, with a nose that was probably broken more than once." He chuckled.

"So, the guy's here to use the library…?"

"Yup, he's a rich traveler, I guess. And he's all about _food_ and the rare but fancy cuisine that's available in Shin Makoku. There are some old cook books in the library basement that he's dug up and he's copying a stack of those on parchment as we speak." He quirked a grin. "Oi, did you know that sparrows in lemon cream sauce were once considered appetizers here? He mentioned that trivia before we had lunch."

The sage hummed an acknowledgement, not that he was particularly interested.

"Claus borrowed the kitchen, thanks to me, and got the staff all worked up over some exotic flaked mushroom dish that he made." Then, Yuuri pointed to his right pants leg, "too bad I was clumsy and knocked my white wine into my food. Actually…not just my food… I think the drink went everywhere." The double black lowered his head slightly in embarrassment.

What would Wolfram say if he knew?

Murata laughed behind his hand, imaging the chaos. What made it worse was that he knew exactly the type of food snob Claus Eberstark had to be and this simply must have been a disaster for him.

"So, what did you do?" he asked, trying not to inject a laugh into the question.

"Oh, uh…well… We had the soup of the day and bread instead." Yuuri grinned at that. He liked tomato and basil soup. "Günter was so upset, though. I feel sorry for him. And then there was all of the work that Claus put into a meal we didn't eat…including the ingredients he'd brought with him..." He scratched his itchy cheek. "Then Lady Cheri and Dom stopped by as the staff was cleaning up around the table with wet rags and buckets…"

_Can we say "awkward_?" He sat up a little taller. "I'm sure it's okay," the sage assured with a kind smile to cover the broad grin that he wanted to be sporting.

"Yeah, but speaking about _eating_…" The double black's mind drifted to Wolfram again and he started to pace. "Do you think Wolfram has been awake at all? Eating and getting stronger? I mean, he was in such a bad way when we left…" Yuuri's onyx eyes grew solemn. "He was hurting."

That thought stung.

The double black found himself at the window, pulling the curtain back. His profile was serious. "I know that everyone is trying to help. And we're doing all that we can under the circumstances. However…I need to know that he's getting better." _The truth is that I want to see him…more than anything. He's in my dreams, now. Bad dreams._

Wolfram's voice asked again, "Is it fair for others to dictate that you must love me by default?"

_I don't want to think about that._

Murata scooted to the edge of the bed and crossed his legs at the ankles. "I'm sure Shinou's doing whatever it takes to keep your _husband_ alive."

Yuuri nodded at that. He'd fully expected Murata to say "_husband_" at some point in the conversation and, this time, he chose to accept it. "Yeah, I'm sure you're right." Then, he went to the closet. "But, now, I've gotta change my clothes. I'm a total mess from that disastrous lunch."

Slowly, his fingers went to the buttons. Yuuri knew that he was distracted by a thought that had been nagging him. He began to shed his clothes and said as casually as he could over his shoulder, "Actually... There's something that I've wanted to ask you for awhile now."

"R-e-a-l-l-y?" Murata almost squeaked the word as he stretched his arms over his head only to feel the bones in his spine pop one by one. Boy, he was tight from doing a whole lot of _nothing_ lately. "And what would that be?"

Yuuri, missing Wolfram, picked up his clothes—as he knew the blond would approve of—and dumped them in the hamper. "When we were in the temple and you were wiping Wolf's face... You know, tears and all…"

Murata frowned at the memory of wiping the bishonen's tear-streaked face. It was, at the time, something innate that drove him to it. Now, looking back, it was just uncomfortable and embarrassing. "Yeah?"

"Why did you say 'It was only by some miracle that Wolfram decided to come here…' and stuff?"

The sage pushed his glasses up on his nose. "Because it was a miracle…or Shinou's influence… Though, I'm inclined, now, to think the latter…"

"No, that's not what I mean," Yuuri said as he turned to him. "You called him 'Wolfram' and not 'Lord von Bielefeld.' That's not really like you."

The sage gave a short nod. "Yeah," he answered sourly, "I know."

"Shinou again?"

"Probably."

* * *

Sitting on a fat, pink cloud together, Wolfram and Shinou were surrounded by six beautiful young women dressed in cute bunny outfits with fluffy, cotton tails. Four of the scantily clad women were attending Shinou—rubbing his bare feet and clinging to his arms. One particularly voluptuous red head had practically climbed into Shinou's lap.

Girlish giggles.

He loved it.

In contrast, Wolfram sat cross legged with arms folded against his chest defensively. Brunette twins with slate grey eyes were kissing Wolfram's cheeks with sweet little nuzzling movements. The right one even went so far as to rub her breast against his elbow "accidentally."

Initially, he'd politely requested that they stop. It didn't work and Shinou only chuckled.

The nuzzling continued followed by soft, little licks on the cheeks.

Wolfram's mouth turned down. This had gone too far. "I'm not in the mood for this. So, _stop_."

It didn't work.

"Look," he turned to the blond king, "you made me a cheater when you were pretending to be too weak to take medicine and ended up kissing Shrine Maidens instead. Now, with this…" He pointed at the twins. "I refuse to play along! In fact, I've had enough!" Wolfram tried to take the girls by the arms and push them away. Instead, his hands went right through them in ghostly fashion.

"Eh??" Green eyes widened.

"Ah, the rules are that they can touch you, but you can't touch them," Shinou purred with the red haired woman crawling fully into his lap. He failed to mention that he'd stolen this idea from his beautiful sage's mind regarding a shrine on Earth called "a strip club."

The blond bishonen fumed where he sat but made every attempt to keep his composure. Shinou was keeping him alive, after all. "My life has been filled with people like this," he complained with what he thought sounded like cold detachment. It probably wasn't. "Attention for no reason. Attraction for the sake of attraction. Not only licentious but undignified."

"Yes, and what astounds me is that you never took much pleasure in that _gift_ that I gave you."

"Gift?"

A blond eyebrow wiggled with "…And _Wolfie Junior_ is so worth the effort in seeing…"

At that, the Prince Consort finally snapped. "A-G-G-G-H-H!!!" came his primal scream. Wolfram threw himself backwards on the cloud—childish as it was—but found that, at least, he was lying on something extremely comfortable. But he was still pissed off.

"Well, I'm going to sleep! Wake me when this is over," he demanded in his brattiest tone yet.

There was a hearty laugh at that. "Truly?"

"Yes!"

"Even if I turn them into…say, Yuuri Heika?"

Wolfram huffed and turned over onto his side, Shinou behind him now. "Then, I'd really know that it was all an illusion. A lie."

A hand reached over for Wolfram's forearm and pulled him flat on his back. It was Yuuri with dark eyes staring at him worriedly. "Don't say that, Wolf." The hand stroked his face kindly and then went on a lingering path down his shoulder to his hand. "Please…okay?"

They laced fingers.

Painfully, emerald eyes closed and he gritted the words, "I hate you, Shinou."

"You're welcome."


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

.

.

With a groan of protest, Murata rolled over onto his stomach. His hand patted blindly for the covers. The sage's neck and shoulders were chilly, and that cool feeling was waking him up. _Found 'em_, he thought vaguely as fingers dug into cloth. The early mornings in Blood Pledge Castle could be so drafty, even this time of year. He had a vague, drowsy moment when he thought he was back in Japan in his old bedroom, but the silk comforter against his cheek reminded him otherwise.

He tossed over, onto his back and turned his head.

No Yuuri.

"Bet he went jogging." He snuggled down into the covers again and thought groggily, _Good luck with that._

An urgent knock came at the door. The sage did his best to ignore it in favor of snoozing. But it continued which made the sage sit up in bed in exasperation. He'd probably never get back to sleep now. "What's going on?" he muttered under his breath. He squinted as he searched the top of the nightstand for his glasses. "Nobody's supposed to come here. I thought that's what Shibuya ordered."

"_H-e-i-k-a_?" Günter sang loudly on the other side. "Oh, Heika? Are you there?"

Still in bed but with the blankets pooled at his waist, Murata frowned and adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose with his middle finger.

"Heika?" Günter went on. "We missed you at breakfast and Lord Weller hasn't seen you at all today." There was a pause. "Of course, it was only mentioned in passing… But, if you're feeling unwell…"

The door started to rattle, in the process of being opened. Then, a guard's voice could be heard. It was deep and rumbling. Murata could make out the tone. Nothing more. He guessed it was words to the effect that only certain people were allowed to enter. That had to have hurt Günter's pride, he knew, but now was not the time to feel sorry for the adviser. The door was now half open and being discovered alone in the maou's bed with blond hair and Wolfram's nightgown was not a conversation he wanted to have.

Spitting curses at the lilac haired man, Murata stripped off the nightie in one go and tossed it blindly. The pink ball rolled itself near the door and drooped open. His skin was freezing now, but he could handle it. The sage pulled back the blankets. On his knees, he snatched three rectangular pillows on the bed, and placed them end to end. He threw the covers on the pillows, rolled himself on top of the pillows, half-pulled his thong underwear off, and pretended to peek under the covers at "Yuuri."

When Günter forced his way in, he was met with a scene that made him reach for a handkerchief for his bloody nose. Wolfram's nightgown was thrown carelessly to the floor. Newlywed Yuuri seemed to be playing "Hide in the Blankets" while nearly naked Wolfram was searching for him. It reminded Günter of his youth. He'd played that game, too, with more than a few of his lovers. It was when Wolfram actually started to purr like a frisky kitty that he left the room. Obviously, they had no idea they were disturbed and, to preserve dignity, he aimed to keep it that way.

"At least," Günter assured himself as he made his way down the hall, "Little Lord Brat is doing his husbandly duty even if he has to entice the maou to keep him satisfied." Yes, putting it that way made him feel a whole lot better. All should be done for the sake of the beautiful, irreplaceable maou.

A guard, closing the door behind the advisor got a good look at what he thought was The Royal Consort's shapely, half-exposed rump in the air. Nose running, he, too, reached for a hankie from his pocket and reminded himself that he knew this job was dangerous when he took it. "But our Maou's a lucky man."

The door closed and Murata smacked a fist into "Yuuri-pillow" as hard as he could. It was all too clear to him that the double black never showed up for his morning jog or breakfast. The routine was necessary to keep unwanted people from nosing about. "So, where could he be?" the sage asked, still angry about his dramatic display. But what really drove his blood pressure up was that he had to dig into his memories and use the "purr" that always turned Shinou on, making him a madman in bed. He hoped he would never ever have to lower himself to doing that again. It was just too humiliating.

* * *

"Yuuri Heika?" Ulrike said in her usual childish tones, walking up to the double black with a curious expression not unlike the one Greta sometimes wore. "May I help you in some way?"

When he'd suddenly appeared at the gate, the shrine maidens had been in a flurry, trying to get word to their superiors while still appearing as though all was in order. Two menacing female guards held their spears at parade rest but seemed to eye him as though he were an intruder, maou or not.

The double black shifted his feet a little. People inviting themselves over never did set well with him. "Ah, yes…actually," Yuuri put a hand to his head. He glanced around the foyer, draped in filmy blue fabric to soften stark, bare walls. He'd been thinking about it all night and simply couldn't sleep. He knew that it might put a monkey wrench into the plan, but this was a _need_ rather than a _want_. Still, he sought permission before just traipsing into someone else's home or shrine or whatever the place truly was these days. "The truth is…I'd like to see…"

"Me?"

All heads turned to the blond standing casually at the back of the crowd. Five shrine maidens humbly stepped aside so that Ulrike could see the blond bishonen. Yuuri gave a sigh of relief and felt his stomach ache disappear. He'd been battling with it all morning in anticipation.

"Wolfram!" Yuuri's voice was warm and he couldn't hide the joy he felt in seeing the handsome young man standing on his own two feet. He was outside the Fountain Room no less.

Yuuri walked briskly to him, intending to hug him. His arms reached Wolfram's shoulders when the young man's eyes opened and Yuuri was taken aback.

One blue eye. One green eye.

"Oh…no…" Yuuri held onto Wolfram's shoulders, fingers pressing harder than he intended. "Why is Shinou still inside?" He glanced at Ulrike, seeking an answer.

Shinou smirked at him in his usual way and the expression made Wolfram's face seem older. "Come, let's talk in one of the meeting rooms down this hall." He took Yuuri by the hand and showed the way at a laid-back pace. Their footsteps echoed. "It's quite pleasant in there. The fireplace was my own design," he chatted, "simply because I like that kind of thing."

The double black just followed meekly, not really focusing on anything until they turned into a room and Shinou shut the door. He gestured to an overstuffed couch by a matching white curtained window, completely foregoing the table and chairs which dominated the room.

The fire crackled lowly and Shinou, with a wry smile, snapped his fingers—making the fire blaze into new life.

Shinou took a seat next to Yuuri and crossed his legs. "While this body is recovering nicely, it isn't healed completely. I can move around, though. And, to be entirely truthful, I was just now taking a stroll…growing weary of being on my back on that altar for so long."

Yuuri nodded. "Kind of bored, I guess?"

"Unquestionably."

The double black smiled a little. "Murata says the same thing back at the castle. He's bored and our plan is going too slowly."

The blue eye sparkled and Yuuri couldn't help but stare at it. "It's a pity that The Great Sage cannot be freed from his gilded cage…" He tilted his head to the side in a flirtatious way, "Or, rather…can he?"

Onyx eyes widened. "He can?"

"I'm capable of healing this body while still inside of it. I can journey to Blood Pledge Castle with you…and stay by your side as Royal Consort to King Yuuri Shibuya." He put some dramatic emphasis behind it that was totally alien to Wolfram's voice.

"W-Wait!" The double black put up his hands defensively, palms open . "We need him here…out of the way…so that he's safe."

A roguish smile leaned in towards Yuuri. "But, I am Shinou. How could your _husband_ be any safer than with me?"

Yuuri noted that he, too, used the word "husband" and had watched closely to see a reaction. Yuuri was determined not to give him one. Just as he'd done with Murata the night before, the double black kept his features practically blank in the effort to not feed into the drama they enjoyed creating.

Shinou edged a little closer on the couch. "I can also work Wolfram's fire magic…as well as my own…as you've just seen." Shinou made a flourishing gesture towards the fireplace with the grey stone hearth and the cheery warmth coming from it now. "Not to mention that both you and I are powerful."

That was an understatement.

There was something about Shinou's words and the indirect pressure he was feeling to comply with a quick "yes." He remembered what Wolfram had once told him before going into his first negotiation meeting. The bishonen had raised an index finger in the air, making the proclamation: "People who do not accept 'no' for an answer are trying to control you."

Yuuri folded his arms. Now, it was his turn to watch Shinou. "Let's be honest. This isn't about working Wolfram's magic or how powerful we both are when we need to be… You just want out of here," he said when the conversation hit a lull.

The blond didn't bother with a comeback: no comic banter or lofty wit. The Original king simply disregarded his words, choosing, instead, to toy with the silver ring on the strap hanging around his neck.

_Ha! I was right! _the double black thought in victory._ He just wants adventure or something...and, probably, at our expense, too._

Shinou glanced at him from the corner of his eye. "There's someone who would like to talk to you. Care to visit with him?"

Yuuri's heart almost stopped. "Wolfram?" he asked almost timidly.

"Care to think of any other reason why I'd whisk you away like this?" He winked. "After all, we have…a charming gentleman…"

_He's talking about himself, I'll bet._

"…A pretty room…"

_Also designed by him._

"A roaring fire…"

_Him again…_

"So…care to…?"

Even with Shinou irritating him, Yuuri nodded somewhat nervously. It had been so long since the two of them had been together. Even though he was certain that Shinou would listen in on what they had to say to each other, he didn't care. This would be Wolfram. And, this time, he wouldn't be writhing in pain. "Yes…please…"

"Fine, then."

A greenish tinge ran like runny watercolor over the blue eye. Seconds passed and the eye became bright, hard—brilliant—a perfect mate for its twin. The face seemed to lighten, too, with both eyes matching.

Now, without a doubt, Wolfram von Bielefeld was sitting next to Yuuri, watching him.

* * *

"And, then," Lady Cheri went on with Dom as her arm candy, "Yuuri Heika suddenly swats his hand in the air…" She waved her hand daintily in a poor attempt at mimicry. "And, then…well…the wine glass flew into the air…"

"A most delicious sight," Dom chuckled in his deep voice to the small group, "considering the vintage of that wine…"

"Oh, yes," Lady Cheri agreed easily. She gave Yozak and Conrad an affirming, girlish giggle.

"I suppose that wine was 'to go,'" Conrad joked to himself, trying to keep it going.

This time, nobody laughed. They simply did what they always did when he made the feeble attempt to tell a joke. They politely ignored it—with the exception of Dom who tossed his blue hair to the side, glancing at Yozak for an explanation of "to go." He got a boyish shrug instead and decided to drop the matter entirely.

"You know, it's too bad I wasn't there," Yozak said with a flirtatious grin at his captain, which was proof he was stating just the opposite. He'd been one of the servants handing out the rags and buckets to the cleaning staff.

"Me, too." Conrad rubbed his chin at the memory. He'd heard some commotion outside through Gwendal's open office window and had peeked out to see the aftermath. He'd also noticed Yozak in the background dressed in a servant's uniform. It reminded him that he needed to have a talk with the spy later on today. Castle servants don't wear garters with little pink ribbons dangling down the inner thigh. Come to think of it, he'd probably have _to inspect_ said garter rather closely before having Yozak part with it. After all, he would be doing his duty if he did.

"Oi," Yozak whispered, hanging back to talk to Conrad privately.

"Hmm?"

"Your mind has strayed into the gutter again. So, what did I do this time?" he commented with a straight face as Lady Cheri pointed out some of the nicer flowers that she had planted this year. Dom seemed quite impressed. Gardening wasn't a hobby but having a nice garden was. And he was all about keeping up with the current trends.

"And just what makes you think that?" Conrad enjoyed flirting with his long-time companion occasionally.

White teeth flashed back. "You always bite your lower lip when you do." The orange haired spy touched his own bottom lip with a finger very slowly, sliding along at an agonizing pace—leaving a wet trail behind. "Just like you're doing…_again_."

Conrad straightened his shoulders. "Are you as turned on as I am?" he rasped.

Yozak pretended to laugh at a joke. "More."

"Meet you in my quarters after this."

Lady Cheri's voice drifted to them. "My…what an interesting herb garden. Isn't that so, Dom?"

"Herb garden?" Conrad parroted and narrowed his eyes at the small, newly planted garden next to the outer wall of the Royal Kitchen. It had several rows of chives, basil, oregano, and some other herbs he wasn't aware of. Maybe, the last row was dill. It was difficult to tell because he wasn't an expert.

"Both dried and fresh herbs are good for the body," Dom commented with a brief hug of Lady Cheri's arm. She managed a sweet blush that he believed instantly.

Yozak rolled his eyes and got an elbow between the ribs from Conrad. The soldier was determined to stay out of his mother's little romance du jour as was his habit.

The new gardener, a short half human with mousy brown hair and a chubby little face with gold eyes set in took off the dirt-smudged sunhat, as being respectful to the upper class, only to reveal short pigtails. Beside her, inspecting a sprig of an herb with great interest was Claus.

"Why, it's good to see you again," Lady Cheri greeted him. It was fun to do so considering the look of horror that had been on his face the last time they'd met. The man had been so profoundly disappointed that his meal—_his gift_—to the maou had been utterly destroyed in comic fashion by that same person that it probably took him hours to recover. To the beautiful ex-maou, this particular Mazoku was simply dinner theater—both food and entertainment together in one place.

"My lady," he responded with a deep bow. He dropped the sprig and approached the little group with reverence.

"Pompous," Yozak coughed into his fist and got another elbow to the ribs. "Oi, that one hurt," he whispered harshly. "And I'm quickly getting out of the mood," he threatened.

"Then, be a good boy…or girl," Conrad countered, whispering back lowly in his ear, "so that we can discuss that garter you were wearing."

The spy's eyes held an "Oh, so that was it" gleam to them. Then, Yozak smiled to himself, remembering the tickly ribbons. "Fine…but make it quick."

"…And greetings to you all," Claus went on even though he only had Dom's curiosity as the others weren't really paying much attention. "It appears that a new garden has been planted here…and I was simply compelled to investigate. I'm quite keen on herbology."

"It's that important?" Lady Cheri asked loftily. Her statement could have been interpreted as snobbish rudeness until she added, "I understand the need for medicinal herbs. I made certain that our healer, Gissela, has her own garden. But, beyond that, herbs can simply be purchased in the village along with the vegetables each morning."

"But fresh is always best," Dom chimed in. He'd been looking for a way to join the conversation and steer it in his direction to get Lady Cheri to focus on him.

"So true. So true," the busty blond said, pulling at his arm a little and enjoying the results. Flexing muscles were always of interest to her.

"Something is…true?" Günter asked as he approached the group.

"Oh, it's all about herbs," Yozak said in a cheeky tone, not bothering to see if Conrad approved of his comment or not.

The lilac haired adviser gave that a nod as his white cape was caught by the wind. "A new herb garden for the kitchen?" He clasped his hands together, pleased, and commented, "Fresh is best."

"That's just what Dom said a few moments ago." Lady Cheri smiled up at the chiseled face framed in blue hair and he smiled back, doting on her.

"Yes, well you'll have to tell me all about the new plants," he instructed the gardener, taking an interest until he also added to those standing behind him, "And I've located His Majesty. So, there's no need to be concerned."

"You… _have_?" Yozak said with an edge. He had, in fact, seen Yuuri on his horse earlier in the day. There was no mistaking what the young king had planned. He was heading for Shinou's Temple. And the spy was certain as to the reason why the double black would be venturing there all on his own.

Conrad's brown eyes widened at the news. "You've seen Yuuri Heika today. Seriously?"

"Yes, I have." He stiffened a little too much, shoulders back too far. An embarrassed look ghosted his face.

"And where was…His Majesty…when you saw him?" the soldier asked cautiously. Yozak had let him in on Yuuri's little jaunt. He wasn't pleased but he wasn't going to stop his godson, either. Being "king" should have its privileges. And, deep down, he knew that Wolfram's ego would be stroked.

Günter thought the question both natural and possibly embarrassing—especially with Dom and Claus in attendance. Add to the fact that the new gardener was standing there, pretending to spade a clot of dirt.

"He was…" Günter ran his fingers through his long hair. "Otherwise…_engaged_…in the royal bedchambers."

"With my Wolfie?" Lady Cheri asked which came out as more of a cheer. She could certainly be energetic when she wanted to be.

Günter shrugged uncomfortably. "I…know for certain that…"

"You saw them?!" Now, Lady Cheri was almost ecstatic. "I'm so happy for my Wolfie!" She clapped her hands joyously.

In contrast, Conrad and Yozak locked eyes.

"Can he be back already?" the soldier asked quickly.

The orange haired spy shook his head. "Not possible."

In unison, they nodded at each other and then Conrad turned in the direction of his mother and Dom. "Our apologies, Mother," Conrad began in a pleasant tone, "but we have to be leaving now." Yozak smiled thinly in agreement and both men turned onto a separate path.

"Check out The Great Sage and see how he's doing?" Yozak asked as they picked up the pace to something akin to power walking. "And, maybe, he can tell us what went on with Günter."

"Yes, and…"

"And?" Yozak asked. "Am I forgetting something?"

"Sorry about…" Conrad shrugged, "…well, you know. _Our plans_."

Yozak laughed in his usual way. "You'll just have to owe me. I'm going to expect a bottle of spiced wine as well as your company later, you know."

Conrad laughed and agreed. "You're on."

* * *

"Y-Yuuri?"

Wolfram spoke the name hesitantly. He just couldn't believe this to be real. He was sitting at one end of a couch with his husband in a cozy little room—somewhere—along with a table, chairs, and fireplace occupying the rest of the space. How the two of them suddenly appeared there, he couldn't even hazard a guess.

"Yuuri, is that you?" He reached a trembling hand out for the double black's shoulder, fearful that his hand would pass through the seemingly solid body. If it did, he wasn't sure his psyche could take it. "Are you _real_…or just another of Shinou's dreams?"

The last time he'd seen Yuuri in the flesh was on that day in the grotto. He had his sword pointed at the shadow on the ground and couldn't shake the unmistakable feeling that they were being hunted.

His fingers were almost touching black fabric when he whispered the prayer "Please, be real."

A wide grin took hold. "Wolf!" Yuuri felt something shimmer through his body in excitement just by saying the name. He couldn't believe that he was sitting with Wolfram—finally! It had seemed so long since they'd been together. And, now, here they were!

Without warning, he reached his arms out and wrapped them around the blond's waist only to hear a soft gasp in his ear.

"Yuuri?" Wolfram breathed his name in poorly disguised embarrassment, but the double black didn't care any longer. He buried his face into Wolfram's warm neck and simply drank in the sensation.

His blond didn't smell of sunflowers and lavender. He positively reeked of some unnamed sweet herb mixed with spice and soap—not unlike what the castle maids used to wash the linens.

It didn't matter, though.

"Missed you," he could only say, fighting to keep his breathing calm and to keep himself from crushing the fire wielder in his grasp.

Instead of the passionate embrace that he always feared he'd get in return, the double black felt hands patting his back in a soothing way followed by the words. "You're okay. You're fine…always were…" Those kind words were usually reserved for Greta after she had a bad dream or if she felt out of sorts when sick with a cold. Wolfram was, Yuuri realized, both nurturing and kind. He just never allowed himself to see it when it was directed at him.

"We have you back," Yuuri went on excitedly and his fingers dug into the white material Wolfram was clothed in. Holding the blond and touching him as much as possible was all he wanted. Finding ways to reassure himself that Wolfram was, indeed, among the living and with him was everything to him in that moment. "I'm so glad you're alive…" Then, he leaned back to look at his favorite person. "But are you in pain? Do you feel bad?"

Wolfram's expression straightened and he said flatly, "Nothing I can't handle."

Blunt. Honest. To the point.

Instead of bickering with him with words like, "Sheesh, Wolfram! Couldn't you at least say that in a nicer way?" his face broke out into another wide smile. "Same old Wolf…always strong for me, huh?" He hugged him again with a slight rocking motion. It was such a relief to hear the Wolfram—the blond as he always was, not the self-absorbed, "possessed" version with Shinou at the reigns.

"Of course, I'm always strong. Someone has to be…wimp…" Affectionately, he patted Yuuri on the back again—more than relieved that they were both real and both in the here and now—and the "wimp" was a softer version of the usual.

The double black chuckled at it. "You can call me "wimp" for as long as you want to."

In a quiet tone, he teased back, "Like I need permission to call a "wimp" a "wimp." Besides, I…" Then, Wolfram simply stopped. Black eyes were staring at him. The boyishly handsome face was close—too close, in fact. He could feel Yuuri's harsh breathing on his lips. And Wolfram could feel an apple blush coming even though he was certain Yuuri didn't mean anything by their close contact. There was a thin tug around his neck, too. Wolfram glanced down and noticed that he was suddenly wearing modest, white robes that he'd never seen before. But what he did recognize was the leather strap and ring.

Green eyes grew hard and confused. _Why are you…?_

Yuuri was taking the leather strap from around his neck. The silver ring swung on the leather as it was gently lifted up and away from him.

Wolfram forced his expression to remain the same, but he thought glumly, _I guess, too much has happened while I was sleeping...things I don't know about yet._

Sick and weak as he was, the blond was determined not to show pain or surprise. Yuuri was often clueless and unorthodox, but he was never intentionally cruel. Wolfram, off balance now, decided to simply accept whatever Yuuri was doing and, if need be, ask Shinou to take over while he slept off the disappointment. There seemed to be a glow of agreement in the back of his mind—telling him that Shinou had already scanned his thought and approved of it.

Focusing on the present moment, Wolfram watched Yuuri hold up the silver ring, freed from the strap. He held up is own gold ring, too.

"I have a favor to ask," Yuuri said with confidence leaving him. "It's…It's about the rings."

Wolfram nodded defensively, not trusting his voice.

"Can we…wear them?" he asked shyly.

Wolfram regarded him with pained confusion. It stabbed at the double black once he recognized the look—and it wasn't the first time that he'd said or done something to deserve it.

"Why, Yuuri?"

The dark haired king thought upon it and shrugged an agreement. The request did seem unexpected and rushed when he really thought about it. So, the question was a natural one for the blond to ask.

"I…uh…"

"_Well?_" Wolfram said irritably. He put a hand to his head. It was starting to throb. When the double black didn't answer right away, he said a little louder than he intended to "Remember the grotto? Remember how I held you to keep you safe from…_from_…" Well, he didn't know exactly what from. But his soldier's instincts could not be ignored. They had saved his life more than enough times. "You weren't repulsed. You were _terrified_ when I held you to me. You were frightened _of me_ until you saw the shadow on the ground." He made as gesture, pointing to the floor as though the shadow would reappear before them. "And, only after that was it okay for us to be that way together."

The double black felt as though backed into a corner. "I understand, but it's just that…things were fine at the time and then you…" He hesitated and then blurted out, "You had your hand over my mouth!"

"Can't you rely on me?" That unmistakable look of a betrayed lover was forcing its way back into Wolfram's eyes.

How could he explain? There was a subtle change in him and he could feel it. But he didn't have the right words.

Yuuri offered up his open palm where the rings now rested, the gold loop topped by the silver. "You know, when I first saw these rings, the jeweler brought them in on a silk pillow. Later, we got married with them…even though it wasn't what was intended." He scratched the back of his head nervously. "After that, I found your ring on the floor…" Then, he winced. Maybe, he shouldn't have brought that part up. The young king had to stop himself from fidgeting. He could feel green eyes boring through him. _Well, actually, I "found it" by stepping on it. _"And, then…later, I returned it to you, and…" He didn't want to admit the last part.

_And I've seen it in my bad dreams._

The young Mazoku wanted to snarl in frustration and lob a fireball. _This is more of Yuuri's typical guilty-babble_, the blond decided with an anger that itched in his heart. But shouting right now would solve nothing. He was feeling too sick and drained. Forcing himself to be calm was the best way. Unfortunately, his body language seemed stressed and his tone hit a pitch to match. "It's just _jewelry_, Yuuri." The double black opened his mouth to respond and he placed a palm up to stop him. It was time to put an end to this mindless chatter before something within him broke. "There's no magic in the ring. It's not an antique or a national treasure." Wolfram frowned deeply and thought, _There's no meaning behind it, either. Not for us. I held onto it for so long because it reminded me of you and because you gave it back to me at a time when I felt lost._

Then, seeing the slumping shoulders, for that was what Yuuri habitually did when he gave in but didn't want to, Wolfram softened. He hated himself for weakening—letting his foolish heart rule his passions—but it was the way he truly felt. So, he continued with "but we're close… _friends_." Wolfram hated the word "friends" defining them, casting very set limits. But, he hated making Yuuri unhappy even more. Being the one to wipe away that goofy, imperfect smile was practically a sin.

Only one of them, the blond had decided long ago, should be truly forlorn, and he chose himself because his heart could take it.

It certainly had more practice.

Wolfram took his ring back and slipped it on his own finger. The blond held up his hand as a challenge. "And even if you don't wear your ring, I'll wear mine. It will prove to the kingdom that there is a bond between us." The pouty look of determination sealed the deal.

Yuuri's face brightened immediately, and he placed his own ring on his finger. "Yeah…" he agreed as he glanced at the gold metal. He tried to feel happy about it. He got what he wanted in more ways than one. But there was something empty about it, too. And too easy. But, maybe, it was more than that. He would have liked to have placed Wolfram's ring on his finger again—a sign of starting over, of being on a new track or being more than they once were.

He was disappointed somewhere, yes. But it wasn't too late.

Wolfram noticed Yuuri leaning in, their faces close.

"Umm…Wolf?"

"Hmm?" He tilted his head to one side, curious but now resentful, tool. Hadn't he done enough? Humbled himself? He'd given Yuuri the "friendship speech" that he always wanted even though the word "friends" stuck in his throat and burned.

For now, they were a couple. But a "Couple of what?—he didn't know. And the double black, most certainly, didn't.

With trepidation, Yuuri's face came closer which made Wolfram extremely uncomfortable. He blinked in confusion and found himself leaning backwards even though his pride begged for him to stand his ground with a wimp who probably didn't know any better.

Tensed up, Yuuri decided to simply take the plunge and get it over with. Wolfram's pale, slightly parted lips were close, so very close. Blood drumming in his ears, lungs begging to breathe harder and get more oxygen… He forced his lips into position, puckered up, and met up with…a cheek.

Onyx eyes widened in realization.

_What? All of that for a cheek kiss? What the…?!_

Wolfram tore himself away and glared darkly at Yuuri from the corner of his eye. He hissed, "What, the hell, _were you doing_?" while wiping his cheek roughly with the heel of his hand.

Yuuri could feel his heartbeat speed up for an entirely new reason. "Well…I…uh! Now, don't be mad!" His voice trembled comically.

But the blond was mad.

He gritted his teeth and made fists—nails biting into his palms. "Then, stop it!" he growled. "I refuse to have you force yourself to kiss me out of some sort of obligation just because we're wearing our rings. I don't need that kind of pity…and I sure, as hell, don't want it." Wolfram forced himself to stand. Truth be told, he wanted to leave, to storm out in the loudest way possible to vent his spleen. Instead, he walked to the table, placed a hand on the back of a chair, and used it as a railing for balance. His legs felt unsteady, so stomping away wasn't an option. But he most certainly didn't want to sit next to Yuuri any longer.

The double black's jaw dropped slightly. "N-No, that wasn't what I was doing," he insisted. "I wasn't forcing myself to do anything. I just thought…I'd…" He felt himself blush a little. "I thought I'd _try_…for you."

_To make you happy…_

Passionate green eyes stared through him, both longing and pained, remembering something. "The first time you kiss someone…I mean, really kiss them, Yuuri…you do it because your heart insists upon it, urges you to. Because, you feel that you'll die in the next moment if you can't touch some part of their soul with yours." He looked down at his ring finger. "There's no 'trying' involved."

Yuuri's face fell. Somehow, he'd screwed this up. It had been going so well so quickly, and now it had gone off track with only himself to blame. "I'm sorry, Wolf…I…" But then he realized a simple fact. Wolfram knew exactly what a kiss—a passionate kiss—was supposed to feel like. His own best kiss came from Murata—but that was more of a "technical" demonstration than passion. "Wait…Does that mean that you…and someone…kind of…ki-"

The blond shook his head dismissively. "A gentleman never discusses…"

Yuuri nodded quickly to that, wanting to end it. "R-Right…"

Head sagging down, Wolfram pinched the bridge of his nose. He was feeling drained and a blinding headache was coming on fast. Some part of him wanted to lie down, too. But Yuuri was here and they needed to finish things or, he knew, Yuuri would be up all night fretting about it.

_Why me?_ Wolfram thought bitterly.

_Why not you?_ Shinou answered in his head, distracting him.

_Enough!_

In the next moment, the warm body was back, hugging him possessively again but offering support, too, as Wolfram was still standing on unsteady legs.

"I'm sorry I messed things up," Yuuri apologized again. "Today, I just really wanted to see you…to be with you. I thought about it a lot last night." The double black's hand with the gold ring moved to Wolfram's hair and tangled in the tresses. "Please forgive me for kissing you."

"It's…okay." Wolfram relented, not feeling well enough to argue his point further.

Yuuri slid his fingers through Wolfram's hair again. It was wonderfully thick and soft with ends that curled up. "But don't ask me to stop hugging you," Yuuri added, "because we've done it before… a lot of times…and you've always let me."

"You holding me like this is not the point," Wolfram chided under his breath. The voice sounded sad and weak now.

Quietly, the young king hummed an agreement and guided Wolfram's head until it rested on his shoulder. A black-clad arm still around Wolfram's waist tightened. "But, for now," Yuuri said with growing confidence, "I'll have this and it will be enough."

The blond sighed to himself_, I'm doing it again… Why am I like this? _

Wolfram closed his eyes with a slight chuckle—giving in to what Yuuri wanted simply because it was within his power to grant it. Did he hate himself for it? Yes. But, that was what they were like together.

"Still hate me, Wolfram?" he asked, almost fearing the honest answer—not that he would let go, of course.

There was a pause and then came a slightly muffled "…Could never truly hate you…" He could feel Yuuri supporting more of his weight now. Wolfram really needed to lie down.

"I'm glad," Yuuri confessed quietly in Wolfram's ear. "Because, if you did, that would make our lives together a little bit…difficult."

He raised an eyebrow at that. "We're already difficult."

"But, you kinda like me anyway…right?" There was a lilt to the voice, gently teasing.

Wolfram buried his face in embarrassment, a feeble attempt to hide and block out the rest of the world. "Shut up and hold me."


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

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"We're coming in," Conrad announced as he knocked on the Royal Bedroom door with Yozak chuckling behind him. All the way over, the orange haired spy was enthusiastic but also vastly amused which, Conrad had to admit to himself, was starting to annoy him. But, after all these years of tolerating Wolfram's passionate ire, Yozak's boyish glee was, in truth, nothing.

The pair entered, expecting no answer from Murata as the royal guards were still stationed outside and they were notorious for listening for any signs of trouble. Yes, "trouble," real or imagined.

The brown haired soldier stepped forward and Yozak, who still followed, closed the door behind them as quickly as he could without arousing suspicion from anyone in the hallway.

They found Murata with his back to them, tucking in his white shirt into Wolfram's blue military uniform trousers. He peered over his shoulder and didn't smile in that falsely inviting way that he normally would. Instead, he absently reached for the jacket, barely glanced at it with a sigh, and then dumped it back again onto the end of the bed. "I haven't been the 'soldier type' for many lifetimes," Murata said sourly. "And, in this one, I'd be more useful as a fortuneteller."

Murata's shoulders wanted to slump.

"Ah, but you'd be a handsome one," Yozak said with a wink and crossed his arms against his chest. "I can just see you in something dark purple or, maybe, blue with sparkles…oh, so dramatic."

A light flickered in his raven eyes. "With an earring…just here?" He pinched his ear.

"Oh, definitely," Yozak agreed, walking in his direction with the pretence of examining him further as a potential fortuneteller and noting the subtle signs that the sage was showing. Yozak had seen them all before while serving his duty and spending time with the soldiers of Shin Makoku. The sage was getting stir crazy in the room and needed distraction more than anything. And if he could have whisked the young Japanese man out of the room, he certainly would have.

Conrad watched the pair chat and flirt about sexy costumes, cards, magic crystals, and water mirrors. Murata actually imparted some interesting details based on his seventh life as a beefy, buxom, well-endowed seamstress and the clothes that were made for a local magician—an elderly human, no less—who wasn't very magical. But Murata was, he said, someone who seemed to have the "second sight"—knowing things from dreams just before they happened. And when a gang tore apart the town in search of the "warlock" who put on shows at the local fairs, Murata had already tied the magician up and dumped him on the first honey wagon heading out of town.

Yozak and Murata laughed.

If there was someone who could lift a person out of a dark mood, it was Yozak when he was really trying. That was another skill that attracted Conrad to Yozak.

He was about to join in the banter when his eyes caught something strange. He walked to the bed and noted the oddly shaped "Yuuri-Pillow." It was severely rumpled with somewhere between ten and twenty fist-sized dents in it.

He scratched his head. "This is…"

"Nothing to be concerned about," Murata said with a nervous laugh and a cheery motion of the hand to wave it off.

"Are…you _sure_?" the soldier asked, taking by the corner one of the pillows that had white goose feathers forced out of it at odd angles. In fact, now that he was this close up, it appeared that some of the smaller, thinner feathers were scattered across the bed and under the sheets. The maids were going to notice this, draw their own enthusiastic conclusions, and the rumors would run wild before the end of the day.

Murata glanced back sheepishly. "Oh, yeah…"

* * *

Yuuri sat straight as a rod with a tight feeling twisting in his stomach as the horse clomped along.

_I'm such a wimp._

The first few minutes had been okay when he didn't dwell too much on what was going on—even though he'd had major misgivings and voiced them. And, admittedly, he had convinced himself he was absolutely fine mostly because he had no other choice in the matter now that they were on the road. And, maybe, he was fine…until he felt Wolfram's bare legs and thinly clothed chest brush up against him with the, supposed, swaying of the saddle.

But, then, it happened again.

Biting back a sound begging to escape from his throat, Yuuri gripped the reins tighter and encouraged his horse to trot a bit faster.

It wasn't enough. A warm thigh pressed against him.

He paled.

_Home! Home! Home!_

Was the ride back always this long?

Wolfram's voice laughed knowingly behind him in a way that seemed to say "You're in for it now."

The double black king took a shallow breath and held it for a beat. Distraction. Distraction was what he needed and not just him. "You know, I don't think this is a good idea. You wouldn't even let me send a messenger pigeon to the castle. So, they're going to be really surprised when you show up…_Shinou_." He added the "Shinou" part to let him know that he knew he was talking to The Original King and not Wolfram.

"Well, then, let's assume that _everyone_ will be surprised to see me." There was a self-love in the tone that was totally alien to the Wolfram who existed now. But, it wasn't that far off from the way Wolfram spoke when they first met. To divert, Yuuri thought back on it. His first image of Wolfram came from looking up. He'd fallen off of his horse and suddenly there was a blond bishonen standing there, regarding him with distrust and distaste. The deep green eyes were angry, too, and fired up with disappointment—aimed at the person practically sprawled out before him.

_That face…_ And nature, running the track it always did, would deem it logical to reflect back that same umbrage.

_But I couldn't…_ He'd never truly despised Wolfram during those early days. _Fought with him, "yes," but hated him, "no."_ But, at that point in their lives, Yuuri had to admit that had they been schoolmates or classmates, he would have avoided him. In fact, most people that he knew would have except those few who were fascinated with gaijin (外人 ) —seeing them as interesting but too loud, too independent, and never part of the group. Never equal.

_Which would have been a pity_, he reflected, _because I would have missed out on someone special._

"What are you thinking about?" Wolfram's face popped up around Yuuri's right shoulder. He peered up mischievously, as though he could read the double black's private thoughts.

"It's nothing," Yuuri lied, trying to keep his voice as even as possible. But that, too, made him feel guilty. His memories and feelings for Wolfram were not _nothing_. His left hand with the golden ring tightened around the reins.

The blond's legs kicked back and forth—eventually becoming a light swinging motion. Yuuri, turning his head, caught a glance. The legs were slightly creamy in contrast to the stark, white robes he was still wearing. Then, Shinou hitched up one side and gave the inner thigh a thorough, manly scratch. "Can't wait to get back," Wolfram's voice murmured, obviously pleasured and the sound of nails roughing up against skin made Yuuri swallow hard. The next word might have been "itchy," but the double black shut his mind down for a second to block out anything else Wolfram's body was doing without his say-so.

Instead Yuuri switched the subject. "You could have taken a nap and changed clothes before we left. Do you realize Wolfram was exhausted?"

Shinou shook his head and, instead, smiled slightly. "Time to get back to the castle. I'm ready to see how this turns out."

"But, Wolfram's _tired_," Yuuri nagged in an irritated tone that his father always used with his mother when things were becoming unreasonable.

There was a brief pause and then "I can sleep once we arrive," came the voice from behind. There was a note of finality to it. Now, Yuuri wasn't sure if it was Wolfram or Shinou who was speaking. But he suspected that Shinou had made it sound that way on purpose.

"But, we're not there at the moment and we've got a ways to go just yet."

The double black could see the gates before them and he wasn't pleased at all to find people milling around and servants seemingly busy doing chores. The gentle murmur of their voices reached him and he groaned inwardly. He'd hoped to slip Shinou in unnoticed.

From the side, green eyes watched him and understood.

"Is that all that's bothering you?" Shinou asked, a smirk rising.

"I'm not _bothered_ at all," he denied but the frown in his voice said otherwise.

"But, they'll see…"

"Eh?"

"They're going to see King Yuuri and his Prince Consort riding together…like this…" There was a lilt in Wolfram's voice and arms reached around Yuuri, fingers pressing into his chest—making a lazy, sensuous trail downward.

Ebon eyes widened in shock.

"Well?" Shinou asked.

Yuuri stopped the hands by placing one of his own over them. It just so happened to be the hand with the gold ring. "Quit it," he hissed.

Murata had already tried this trick with him earlier. It was becoming decidedly "unfunny" and he was grinding his back teeth before he knew it. His jaw would feel tight for the rest of the day.

"Fine," came the weary voice from behind, "but, at least, pretend that you're agreeable to being seen as a couple in front of your subjects."

Yuuri blinked at that as he passed through the gates with men and women suddenly bowing to him and others, new to the region, staring in wonder at the young king and the stunning young man in white riding closely, intimately on the same horse.

"Yuuri Heika and the Prince Consort!" an old servant shouted with her well-worn cane pointed in their direction.

The double black seemed to shrink back at the sudden attention.

"Seriously," Wolfram's voice whispered in his ear.

_No…no…no…_ He could feel his face burn.

Now, this was just stupid. He'd had a wedding—a very public one—for goodness sake—and each large city held its own "official reception" for the locals to celebrate. "I'm always fine with being seen with Wolfram. So, don't start with me." He kept his voice low. Shinou was just causing trouble for him and he could feel the stress draining his psyche.

"Now, we both know that isn't true." A dark chuckle followed and a blond head rested on his shoulder affectionately. He gave a bashful glance to a tall Mazoku woman with a basket full of clean, folded clothes as they passed by. She blushed.

They passed a small group of gossiping servants. The sight of their king with his consort was adorable and the women couldn't help cooing at them as they clomped by.

Wolfram's arm raised slightly to wave back at a young Mazoku boy who'd dropped his bundle of firewood to wave, jumping into the air as he did so—distressing his mother by the unsightly "jumping jack" scene.

"You forget that I can see into Wolfram's memories," Shinou went on quietly so that only the two of them could hear.

The horse clomped a few steps as he processed it.

No, this was absolutely false. "Wolfram…overreacts sometimes," Yuuri explained, more to himself than to Shinou.

Now, there was a deeper, barking laugh followed by the words , "Fool, impressions are real. Do you think yours are the only ones that truly matter?" Then, he rubbed his blond locks into Yuuri's shoulder as a sign of fondness as they passed three of Wolfram's elite guard on break. The men, who had not seen their favorite commander in quite some time, stared back but with wide grins on their faces. Wolfram, dressed in white homespun with simple straw sandals that the shrine maidens typically wore, seemed more than content riding behind the maou. Once again their Yuuri Heika had worked a miracle. He'd tamed the shrew.

"Don't call me a 'fool,' Shinou," he hissed and felt a sudden thump to the shoulder as a warning.

"I am '_Wolfram_,' remember?" he warned in a dangerous tone. "Call me nothing else or you endanger your husband's life."

This time, Yuuri would have none of it. "Endanger his life?!" he spat. "Leaving the temple endangered his life." He shook his head in disbelief. "I should never have gone along with this."

"Ah, but you did…" He leaned his head against Yuuri's shoulder as they neared the stables. "And, I think, you chose to go along with it because you miss my impossibly bratty descendant."

Yuuri lowered his head. "That's not entirely fair. Look, he's a good person. He's good to Greta and to me. He's loyal, brave, and kind. Wolfram would never betray me…as his king or as a person. He'd never hurt…"

Bored with the laundry list of positive attributes, Shinou rested the pale chin on Yuuri's shoulder, eyes searching the past and reflecting upon things long ago. What little bit of merriment that he had within faded. "Don't promise yourself that you'll never wound that special person by your side…the one who has sacrificed so much for you and has asked little to nothing in return."

Yuuri glowered and stopped the horse as a stable boy came running to them. He turned in the saddle to glare at the blond behind him. "Are you telling me that I can't do it? I can't keep him safe?" he asked testily.

Shinou glanced at the chestnut-haired Mazoku boy. He was listening in as all servants were known to do.

_Oh, the drama. Servants just live for it, do they not?_

Another stable hand joined them—looking a year or two younger than the double black and sporting lemon yellow hair with a thin rat tail braided down the back.

Yuuri jumped down from the horse, turned back, and blanched as Wolfram reached out a slender hand to his king to help steady himself as he swung a bare leg over.

The double black grasped the hand, fearing on some level that this unsteadiness was real—or it was truly Wolfram—and the fatigued blond would drop to the ground.

Yuuri helped Wolfram down and, feet upon the earth, the blond seemed to lose balance again. He fell forward into the double black's arms and then stubbornly righted himself, on his own unsteady legs once more.

"Royal Consort!" and "Prince Consort!" the servants shouted worriedly with glances at Yuuri to see his reaction.

A hand to his head, as though battling a headache, the young blond man said, "Yuuri, I don't feel well. I think I'm coming down with a cold."

Worried, the double black placed a palm against Wolfram's forehead. And, then, Yuuri saw them. One blue eye and one green.

A devilish smirk.

Rushed footsteps came from behind.

Another stable hand joined them with a profound bow and, realizing that they would not be alone for much longer, Yuuri placed what seemed to be a protective arm around Wolfram's shoulders and escorted him away. But his anger was still boiling with him under the surface. Confidentially, he gritted, "I'm not sure what you're playing at. But, Wolfram and I are working things out and I'm not going to hurt him or injure him or whatever you're implying."

Now away from the stables, the blond bishonen relaxed a little—moving from Yuuri's arm but still walking close, side by side. "The reaction you had when I offered you my hand…just to get down from a horse…told me all I needed to know." There was a slow blink. Emerald green eyes twinkled at him and the smile was almost cruel. "He embarrasses you. He knows it." Then, as the castle doors opened and people began to stream out of it in Yuuri's direction, Shinou added, "No wonder…he begged for death as a reward."

The color drained out of his face. People were around them, crowding and all talking at once—a sea of chattering, happy voices drowning out his thoughts and making them muddy. But what they couldn't stop him from saying was, "_He did what?!_"

Shinou winked at him once more and took his hand.

With purpose, Gwendal, Conrad, and Yozak walked quickly down the steps with an urgent pace from the castle and melted into the back of the growing, assembled group of well wishers—all wanting to see the royal couple together.

The double black's eyes grew darker and, for a second, Shinou almost thought he saw snake-like slits in Yuuri's eyes. "We are gonna talk later! You understand?" He jabbed a finger into Wolfram's shoulder and noted the blond backing down immediately. And he couldn't believe it when he saw the blond suddenly lowering his head in submission, turning his face away.

The group hushed straight away, shocked that their sunny and fun loving king would be so livid, so insistent when it was usually "Little Lord Brat" with the temper.

Yuuri shook his head angrily. _I can't believe it. He's making people feel sorry for him! Um…I mean Wolfram. But, it's him, not Wolf!_ Turning on his heel, the double black walked briskly towards the castle and the people parted like The Red Sea. Yuuri fumed angrily to himself as he went on with his eyes catching the surprised looks on Gwendal, Conrad, and Yozak's faces.

Three steps behind him, Wolfram followed with his hands behind his back—looking solemn and alone.

Yuuri stopped and glanced angrily at the sky. "Come on," he growled lowly, but everyone could hear it. And, once they were gone, he was certain everyone would gossip about what just took place.

"Now!"

"But, I'll…step on your shadow," Wolfram's voice replied lowly.

"Now!"

A nod. Wolfram's steps increased until a hand reached out and grasped his painfully. The wince made the women standing near him fret. _Maybe, they have difficult husbands, too,_ Shinou thought wryly.

The blond continued on, being forced forward.

Even the guards near the entrance felt for him but were powerless to do anything. They glanced to Gwendal.

Before Yuuri knew it, he and Wolfram had stepped into the drafty castle hand in hand. The grey stone floor echoed with Yuuri's angry footsteps and Wolfram's muffled, padded steps were out of sync.

They said nothing to each other until Shinou spotted a new maid who had just finished cleaning up one of the baths at the far end of the castle. Since he'd kept an eye on Blood Pledge Castle even though he no longer ruled the place, he made it his "mission" to follow the novice "lovelies" flitting about the castle until they got their footing. He thought of himself as a guardian angel for the servant class.

Yuuri glanced to the side, determined to get Shinou's attention and to tell him with his eyes that once they were in the bed chambers, they were going to have a discussion about Wolfram. Yes, a good glare would do it and would get Shinou to be—he hoped—submissive again. But, this time, it would be for good reason and not to damage his reputation as a new husband.

Wolfram's legs had slowed down to an ambling gait. And, now that Yuuri had taken a good look, he realized that Wolfram was smiling sweetly at the new girl. In fact, it was a beautiful, breathtaking smile—the kind only a bishonen in a manga could give with, possibly, twirling pink roses in the background. He tilted his head just so and the perfect rows of teeth peeked from soft, kissable lips.

Striking, innocent, and slightly vulnerable.

Yuuri's face formed into a deep frown with eyes narrowed threateningly. _Oh, he's doing this on purpose just to slow us down! He doesn't want to talk right away. He just wants to make me squirm in anticipation! The jerk!_

"Sh-!" and then he caught himself. Wolfram's head whipped in his direction, eyes opened in shock at the possibility that he'd be called "Shinou."

"Sorry…I…Ummm…" Wolfram's voice warbled and he made a slight gesture to the new girl who was staring worriedly at the monarch.

The king was mad. No doubt about it.

What had they done? Nothing.

"I just wanted to…" Wolfram's body turned to where it was upstaging the girl, as though from her viewpoint, protecting her. "I just wanted to say hello to _her_." There was a sexy, velvety note to that last word that got on Yuuri's last nerve. The triumphant smirk which followed pushed the point.

"Well, you're supposed to be with me!" Yuuri spat, a murderous look in his eyes now and Wolfram lowered his head again in submission as the clasped hands yanked the blond bishonen closer to the double black.

The girl took several steps backward, bumped into the wall, and then bent low in a bow to cover it all up. This was a horrible day!

Shinou cackled inwardly as Yuuri squeezed his hand and forced them down the hallway. The young king was walking, as any insulted man would, as though he had a stick up his butt—which was endlessly amusing from Shinou's perspective. And, when he didn't walk fast enough to keep up, Yuuri jerked his hand as a warning. Many maids scrambled to get out of the way and, in their hearts, felt deep sorrow for the blond spouse of the Mazoku king.

Who knew he would turn out to be that way?

With a glare to both guards at the bedroom door, he reached for the door handle. Once the men had backed away a few steps, he opened the door, practically crushed Wolfram's hand, and jerked the young blond man inside.

"In here!" Yuuri growled with gritted teeth. He was about to slam the door when he heard the distinct echo of Gwendal, Conrad, and Yozak approaching. They were a sight for sore eyes. He felt his anger melt—possibly from embarrassment over Wolfram and possibly because he'd deviated from the set plan. "Please come in," he moaned into his hand.

This day was really going to suck.

* * *

"Could you believe that marriage would change a man so much?" a kitchen servant said disappointedly, brushing crumbs off of her blue apron as she walked back to do her chores. Today was bread baking day and the loaves were filling the air with warm scents.

"I just can't understand it," the woman next to her agreed. "It makes me think twice about Jerold's offer to marry me."

The trio of Wolfram's men began to mutter darkly among themselves, heading for their quarters.

The small crew of gardeners, with their hoes and buckets, began to shuffle off. "Gee," sighed the pig-tailed gardener as she followed the aged Master Gardner back into the fields. The others with her murmured in agreement. And one of the stable boys turned to see his father who had arrived late. "Oi, Dad! Guess what!"

Lady Cheri had been standing with Dom and tolerating another boring discussion—this time, on the history of roasted chestnuts in holiday cooking—from Claus when the royal couple had returned. The ex-maou had never seen their king so livid. And his public display of antagonism and resentment of her youngest son heightened her modest sense of motherly concern. She frowned a little, marring her beautiful features and Dom gently tickled under her chin to cheer her up.

"Couples fight occasionally," Dom explained in a friendly way. "Especially newlyweds. Forgive them."

She nodded absently, still not understanding what her son could have done after all of these years that would set the double black off. Wolfram could be nagging, annoying, and, she was reluctant to admit, with his fire, a wee bit "strong willed." But, he loved Yuuri truly and stood up to him when he needed a good kick in the pants. However, this submissive, almost weak, blond young man simply couldn't be the son she raised. Lady Cheri had always feared somewhere deep down that one of her children would grow up to be a mouse and easily dominated by others. There was no place in Shin Makoku's courtly life for such a person. The effects of politics and social climbing could shatter even the stoutest of hearts. So, when Wolfram, her last child, turned out to be "Little Lord Brat" she knew he was safe from heartache. Or, at least, she thought he was until he fell in love with Yuuri. And, then, her worries returned but she kept those to herself.

_Everyone deserves a broken heart and very few "first loves" ever last._ It was a cold reality that Wolfram could not be spared.

Now, she was looking in the direction to where they went. _Maybe, actually marrying the first person you ever wanted was not such a lucky thing after all._ They were both so young and she knew that people changed over time.

She certainly did.

And that change was not necessarily for the better.

If this situation with Wolfram continued, she might have to step in and do something—something Wolfram would deem as humiliating, possibly. Lady Cheri was a loyal subject to Yuuri Heika and Shin Makoku. However, she had only one "Wolfram" and she would not lose a precious son no matter what. Almost losing Conrad in the war had taught her that.

"Lady Cheri?" Claus asked and then turned to Dom with concern. "I believe the lady could use some refreshing drinks in the shade. Shall we go?"

The blue haired escort shook his head "yes" while taking Lady Cheri's delicate arm and the trio changed direction.

* * *

"What, the hell, was going on out there?!" Gwendal fumed with a pulse throbbing on his temple. He was perilously close to losing his temper and causing an earthquake in the castle.

"That's exactly what I'd like to know!" Yuuri demanded as he turned to the smug blond standing behind him. "Do you think people are going to buy this pitiful act from you? Huh, Shinou? It's totally out of character for Wolfram." He approached the blond who was wearing a shameless, toothy smile—typical of The Original King when he was feeling challenged by a worthy opponent.

"Shinou, answer me!" Yuuri demanded, "That had to be the worst Wolfram impression I'd ever seen. Or, were you trying," he eyed the porcelain face before him, "to distract me from what you said earlier?"

Shinou stretched like a cat, arms over his head and then wide to the sides. The white robes rode a bit higher, showing a little of his thigh. Yuuri wasn't sure if he was doing that on purpose or not. He probably was.

"People will believe what they want to believe."

"That's no answer, Shinou," Murata said calmly from his place by the window. He had moved a comfortable chair over there a good ten minutes ago. The light was better. And, to pass the time, he'd been reading one of Wolfram's history books (and had been laughing outright at the historical inaccuracies).

Without turning his head, the blond seemed to sense the presence and bask in the glow of the soul, eyes closing briefly in bliss. "Hello…_my sage_…" He actually purred the greeting and Murata worked hard to suppress a shiver. He wanted to shake it away but found a tug at his soul instead. Just the words alone could do that.

Murata hated himself.

"What we saw out there was…" Yozak began, casting a thumb at the door.

"Embarrassing?" Shinou suggested but he wasn't interested in talking to the orange haired spy. Not really. He was walking casually in Murata's direction, guiding himself to what he wanted. "I was just making a point to…Yuuri Heika. I think he sees it now."

"That wasn't a _point_," Yuuri said, now feeling exasperated with too many conflicting feelings and too many people in the room.

Shinou stopped just before Murata. The young sage was still seated with the book resting in his lap. "I prefer you with black hair…my sage. Blond doesn't suit you." He smiled again but it didn't reach the green eyes. "And this place must be frightfully dull." With an over the top flourish, he gestured to the four walls.

"Oh, really?" Murata folded his arms defensively at the sweeping gesture. "And what makes you believe that?"

"Because when you read, you prefer to do it outside…under a tree." A faux sigh followed. "You always have."

There it was again—a tug at his soul. Murata gave an angry glance and tossed the book to the floor, immediately feeling naked without holding it.

"I'm sorry," Wolfram's voice said, "did I strike a nerve…or was I completely wrong? I could be, but I don't think so." Wolfram's face leaned in. With the unmistakable look of desire and determination in the eyes, Wolfram seemed much older and almost a carbon copy of Shinou's hallway portrait.

Now, The Original King was so close to Murata that no one could see the sage's face.

"Leave me alone." Murata mouthed the words to Shinou—who, callously, chose to disregard them.

"We'll talk later," The blond whispered and delighted in the look of vexation which followed. After all, who needs an irksome, middle aged wife when he had the same relationship with his young, beautiful sage—no matter the incarnation?

The blond shrugged casually and walked to the small, assembled group around Yuuri. Conrad and Gwendal were watching him with a sense of thinly masked anxiety. The spy was analyzing him, as was to be expected. All were in support of Yuuri—which was also to be expected. But he wondered vaguely how much sympathy in the room was aimed at Wolfram and the extent to which his reputation had changed with a single "stroll," as Shinou liked to think of it, into the castle.

Plucking up courage, Yuuri stepped forward and looked into the face of his husband. He knew that Wolfram was in there—somewhere—and that he owed him answers. Yuuri felt that Shinou owed him, too, for toying with him the way that he did.

"Now, that we're in here…just us…" His hands made fists. "Explain exactly why Wolfram would beg you for death!"

"He did what?!" Conrad said, appalled. He stepped to Yuuri's side, also wanting to know. This had to be a misunderstanding and a mortifying one once Wolfram came back. Conrad decided he'd help to sort it out now.

Gwendal moved to the young king's other side, hands firmly on his hips. Yes, this was the great Original King that they were facing down, but this now concerned his baby brother in a whole new way. And respect for a king would only go so far.

Shinou turned to Murata. "What? You're not joining them?"

"Do I need to?" the sage replied coldly from his chair.

Shinou directed himself to the bed, taking what he knew to be Wolfram's side out of respect. By all intents and purposes, he could have taken Yuuri's spot—as the first king of Shin Makoku and, admittedly, just to rub the young whelp's nose in it. However, Wolfram wouldn't care for it at all and the sage would take a dim view of the childish behavior. So, he chose the higher ground for this moment and accepted Wolfram's side of the bed.

Shinou stretched out and then blinked curiously. "Does this bed have pillows?"

Yuuri knitted his eyebrows when he noticed that Shinou was right. The pillows were missing. "Oi, what the…"

"Don't ask," Yozak said with a short shake of the head.

Conrad coughed into his fist with discomfort and Gwendal made a mental note to grill him over the topic later.

"Shinou, back to business." Yuuri approached the bed. "Why did Wolf ask you to kill him? Was he in that much pain?"

Wolfram suffering—abandoned and alone—a frail, convulsing body in Shinou's temple, that image, that picture in his mind, had been haunting him for days.

The blond man on the bed closed his eyes but continued to smile. "Each man's pain is different. And what can be avoided often isn't because we set ourselves up for failure." The blond's fingers were laced together and he rested his palms on his chest. "We are the authors of our own stories. So, we take up our chosen roles in the closing act of the play… and accept, humbly, the end which always comes in time."

"What?" Yuuri didn't get any of it, but Murata did.

"You showed him something…didn't you?" the sage commented brusquely, an elbow on his thigh and a cheek in his palm. He tried to appear bored out of his mind—which was a good enough acting job considering he'd had enough practice.

"I kept him…entertained."

There was a frustrated sigh coming from the sage as he stood. Shinou immediately smiled, eyes still closed.

"Based on what I know about Lord von Bielefeld," Murata said, thinking out loud, "you showed him some type of dream-vision regarding himself."

The Original King's smile faded a little and Murata inwardly cheered.

"…Something about himself…his pride, loyalty, sense of self…"

Shinou's face slackened a bit more.

Murata paced a few steps, scratching his chin in thought, and then stopped. "…Something about his relationship with Shibuya…_maybe_?" Murata was fishing there, but he knew he was on the right track. "…Involving a woman…?" Then, he smiled hard after reading Shinou's face. "Yes, you'd somehow drag a woman into the scenario…making him feel as though his choices were few." Onyx eyes drilled into Wolfram's soft, and not quite sleeping face. "…Yes, hardly any…and all self-seeking…"

Shinou yawned and turned on his side. "Are you sure you're talking about Wolfram and Yuuri Heika or…?"

That was it! Something inside of the sage snapped.

"I'd like to leave now," Murata told Yuuri abruptly as he reached into the closet for Wolfram's winter cubby bear hat. With force, he shoved all of his blond hair under it painfully and crammed his feet into an old pair of Wolfram's shoes as roughly as possible. "Once I'm back at the temple, I'm dying my hair to another color." He glanced at Shinou over his shoulder. The man was still in the same position as before. "And I might not necessarily dye it back to black!"

With a curt nod to the group, the sage opened the door. Gwendal made a motion with his eyes for Yozak to follow the sage back to the temple as escort. And, with that, the door quickly swung closed.

"What was _that_ all about?" Yuuri asked Conrad and Gwendal. It was another one of Shinou and Murata's "non-fight" arguments which made no sense. All they could do was shake their heads at it.

"Nevertheless, it still didn't answer our question," Conrad prodded.

"I know," Shinou responded followed by a slight hum of contentment. The bed felt good and his borrowed body was craving rest. "But death…real or desired…is personal."

"Then why bring it up?" Yuuri wanted to know, still vexed.

Shinou could see in his mind's eye Wolfram in the form of a guardian angel forever shielding Yuuri's small son-to-be, Wolf-chan, with his glorious wings.

"Because, as you've just seen with our Great Sage, each man has his breaking point. And that goes for your husband, too." He rolled over and faced the opposite wall, wishing away the mental picture of Wolfram's desired future. Shinou didn't need to see it again. Protecting the living, he knew better than anyone, was a monumental—sometimes impossible—task. "And an honorable sacrifice is still a sacrifice."

Yuuri looked to Conrad with a feeling of helplessness. He wasn't getting anywhere with the ancient spirit.

"Besides," Shinou suggested before drifting off, "he may not even remember that he asked."

The double black shook his head. "That's a lie. If he asked, he meant it."


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

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This love is difficult, but it's real  
Don't be afraid, we'll make it out of this mess  
It's a love story…baby just say "yes."

"Love Story" ~ Taylor Swift

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* * *

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There was a subtle shifting of the mattress that made Yuuri stir from sleep. He pushed back the covers a little, his body still feeling heavy and his head fuzzy. After a few seconds' pause, he began to wonder if he'd imagined it.

But it moved again and the double black turned with fatigue. _What's going on?_

It was dark in the room, but the curtain had been swept back and blue-grey light from the moon cascaded in at an angle. The light seemed unearthly and it brought to mind the old wife's tale that if you slept directly under the moonlight, you'd have nightmares.

The blond sat up a little more in the bed, legs pulled up to his chest. He was turning his head left and right, looking for all the world like a lost child. He rested his head against his knees for a moment and growled in frustration "This is so stupid."

Yuuri knew it well.

I was Wolfram. He was back.

"W-Wolf?" Yuuri said hesitantly. He'd gone to bed—the very far side of the bed—with a loudly snoring Shinou only after Conrad had encouraged him to. "What if Wolfram wakes up during the night?" he asked. Immediately, and mostly out of guilt, the double black conceded.

And his godfather had been right.

At the sound of his name, Wolfram's deep green eyes turned to him in a flash.

"Y-Yuuri?" His voice sounded pained, making the double black scoot closer, concerned for him.

"It's me." He sat, now, shoulder to shoulder with the blond—watching as he got a shaky but determined nod in return. "Are you feeling okay, Wolf?" Just from the sight of him, it was clear that he wasn't. But whether it was out of stress or as a result of the poisoning, he couldn't tell.

The blond steeled himself but his eyes betrayed him, as always. He wanted to look angry but there was a spark of fear in there, too.

"How did I get here, Yuuri?"

The shoulder rose and fell, brushing up against him as it did so. The blond fire wielder was breathing harder—more than someone who'd just awakened. _How long has he been up?_ the double black wondered.

"Explain," the bishonen gritted between his teeth when the double black took too long to answer.

"Huh?" Yuuri ruffled his unmanageable bedhead at Wolfram's question. "What do you mean?"

Wolfram tightened his arms around his knees and straightened his back. "I just asked how I got here," he said irritably. "I don't remember… Understand?" The stress in his voice was getting higher and sharper by the word.

Yuuri placed a wide, warm palm against Wolfram's back and rubbed soothing circles as though they were both on a ship and he had a bout of seasickness. "Oh, I see…"

"One minute, I'm in the temple and…and…" He blushed a little, turning his face away as he did so. "You're holding me and…the next minute…I'm here in the dark." He snapped his fingers. "It was this fast."

Yuuri leaned in as he started to rub the tense shoulders with his left hand. "I'm surprised you didn't make a fireball or melt every candle in the room or somethin' when you woke up."

He shook his blond head. "I know where I am now, wimp…"

"Not a wimp," Yuuri said under his breath.

Wolfram continued, "I know I live here with you. I'm not that bad off. It's just that I don't remember coming here…and…" He fell into silence, seemingly debating with himself. Yuuri stopped massaging Wolfram's shoulders and, instead, let his hand move to a position on the mattress behind Wolfram. He leaned, trying to see the face better in the dark.

"And?" he prodded.

Wolfram's face became a thin line. "Yuuri?" Green eyes turned to him. "You'd tell me the truth if I asked, right?"

The double black's heart began to beat hard. What if Wolfram asked a question he wasn't ready to answer? What if it was a question he _couldn't_ answer? Would he lie or would he tell a half-lie, softening the blow? Sometimes, when it came to Wolfram, Yuuri had a very difficult time separating truth from lies. His heart and his ego often battled—resulting in a string of pyrrhic victories.

Wolfram saw his face and the worry etched into it. Even in the dark, it was plain to see. But, regardless, he was going to ask. "My question is…" He tightened his arms around his knees, wishing he had the nerve to take Yuuri's hand for comfort. But, then, he decided against it. He wasn't fragile and he wasn't going to just crumble into dust if the answer was not what he wanted to hear. Sometimes, the greatest bravery of all came from just living and accepting what aching pain fate had in store.

"Yuuri," he turned to him, "how much time has passed since the day you held me in the temple?"

Black eyes lit up at the simple question—_and a quite reasonable one_, Yuuri thought with relief. "Oh, that was hours and hours ago." His hand returned to massage the left shoulder which tensed back up. "But Shinou decided that you were well enough to come home…" he added gently. "And, I think, he wants to help us solve this problem with the poison letters." Yes, that was the spin that he'd put on it. Wolfram, obviously, would be none the wiser.

"How is that coming along?" the blond asked vaguely, still processing the previous answer. It was hard on him, but he tried to mask it.

"Too slow for now," the double black said, hanging an arm around Wolfram's shoulders to give him comfort. Then, he felt the coolness of Wolfram's skin through the sheer white cloth. "And you feel cold and kinda clammy. Are you sure you're fine, Wolf?"

"I'm not a weakling," he answered gruffly. "I'm fine…and I can keep you safe." He glanced around in the darkness. "All I need is my sword. Where is it, by the way?" He scratched his chin vaguely. "Maybe, it's still back at the temple…or…" Then he stiffened again. "But no matter… I'm well enough to watch over you, protect you."

Yuuri smiled wryly. _No, you're not. But, I'll let you think that until you can back up your words._

"What are you smiling about?" the blond asked testily.

Yuuri covered his smile with his hand, the gold ring flashing in the dark. The blond stared at it with a measure of surprise. "You're still wearing your ring." He felt a warm surge go throughout his body at the thought. Yes, Yuuri had kept his word.

The young king nodded proudly and admired his hand. "It's quite nice…and so is yours." He motioned to Wolfram's hand, still wearing the silver version of the same design.

"Of course," Wolfram blustered, chest puffed out.

"We're quite a twosome…aren't we?" Yuuri's voice hung in the air.

"Yeah, for as long as it lasts," he whispered to himself, resting his chin on his knees.

The double black cocked his head to one side. "That's a little pessimistic, don't you think?" He was trying his best to cheer him up. "Shouldn't husbands be more cheerful and encouraging?" A friendly shoulder nudge followed.

Wolfram chuckled the word "husbands" a little bitterly. "Actually, I was just contemplating the fates." It wasn't an accident that Yuuri had come to his world. And, he felt that it wasn't an accident that Yuuri had slapped him. Shinou, somehow, was behind it even if he couldn't prove it with physical evidence. Their accidental engagement was followed up with an accidental marriage—neither of which ever gave Wolfram any real security or happiness.

_But, maybe, it wasn't supposed to…_

Then, he forced the smile that he knew Yuuri wanted. "Come to think of it, I should really be enjoying this moment with you instead of acting this way."

There was a hum of agreement in his ear.

With hesitation, he rested his head on Yuuri's shoulder. Much to his surprise, his bed companion didn't protest or move away. It felt good, less lonely. Even if Yuuri would never love him back the same way, he could, for now, forget that and simply enjoy.

A lie, but a beautiful one.

"Oi, Yuuri?"

He got another hum as a "yes."

"Do you want to see something…something pretty?"

Yuuri raised an eyebrow at that. "Is it you? Most people say that…" He didn't get to finish his thoughts. He got a gentle elbow in the ribs.

"Don't call me 'pretty' in that tone of voice. I'm a man."

Yuuri pursed his lips. _A man…a really good looking, short statured, blond-haired…slim "man" with a number of fan clubs throughout the kingdom._ "Man…uh, right…yeah…"

The face took on an adorably dangerous scowl. "You _mock_ me?"

Yuuri raised his hands defensively. "No, no! Seriously! I'm just agreeing with you." But the green eyes were staring directly into his soul and he feared the worst. "Besides," the double black blathered, "you were about to show me something, right?"

The blond shook his head at that while Yuuri, still sweating lightly, praised himself for redirecting Wolfram's thoughts elsewhere. As a result, he got to live a little longer without being barbequed.

The bishonen's face softened as he gathered his magic—which was low thanks to his body's lethargic state as well as Shinou's efforts to heal him. He found his internal flame and brightened it. "Back in the days before I met you," Wolfram reminisced, "and foolish courtesans tried to flatter me with their perfect manners and their false praise…"

"They did?" Yuuri said before he could stop himself. "Weren't they afraid of you?"

"Huh? What are you talking about?" Wolfram seemed legitimately annoyed now, eyebrows pushed together. "I'll have you know…I was the reigning maou's son…and handsome…a fine prize for anyone who wanted to climb the social ladder or who craved political power."

The bragging aside, Yuuri felt a bit of his jovial feelings fade. Was Wolfram only that? Did they want him only because he was a prize to be won or a possession to be had? Or, worse…

_A bed-warmer?_

The bishonen went on.

"I was courted—seriously, mind you—by a few princesses, a king, and three nobles…" He laughed into his palm to keep from making too much noise. "There were others, but Gwendal chased most of them away. They were either too foolish or lacked the proper rank to be with me." He rocked a little in the bed, starting to enjoy himself. "Oh, I was praised, given treasures and wine, and one idiot actually wrote bad poetry for me. A sonnet, I think…" He tilted his head back, grinning at the memory. He hadn't thought about this in such a long time. "Oh, and it was so public. Mother made me sit through all two hundred and fifteen lines of it. Absolutely appalling." He pushed his blond hair out of his face. "Now, it's kind of amusing. Back then, I was furious." He smiled and his eyes danced in Yuuri's direction for the first time.

Yuuri felt his heart beat at it. "Just beautiful." His words were soft.

"Hm?" Wolfram blinked, confused.

"Oh, it's no big deal." Then, he turned back, sitting shoulder to shoulder once more. "But, it is fun…hearing about your past. Mine's so boring compared to yours."

Wolfram leaned a little against Yuuri's shoulder. "But, we both had fun…I'm sure…just in different ways." There was a devious smirk that Yuuri wasn't sure he liked.

"Different ways…?" He hesitated before asking, "Do you mean that…you and somebody…together…?"

Wolfram's eyes widened when he realized he'd said too much and he interrupted with, "Oh, what I was about to show you. Watch this…" He pressed his hands together tightly and light began to glow from within his palms. Blond hair billowed with a growing brightness, tinting the white robes with a golden tone on tone. "It was my favorite trick when I was courted in the evenings."

"Trick?" Yuuri parroted. "What kind of…?"

From between Wolfram's thin fingers, small specks of light began to escape. They drifted and floated on unseen currents—rising and falling with a life of their own.

"This is...some kind of …Wow!"

Wolfram grinned at him puckishly, his face lit up with white fairylights as they floated like feathers around him.

"They look like some kind of fireflies to me," the double black remarked, making a gentle reach for one.

"Be careful," Wolfram cautioned, "they may be made of light but they can still be too warm to touch…unless your element is fire." He opened his hands to release the rest. Gladly, they floated and searched for new spaces.

"So, uh…" Yuuri watched a light pass his nose and meander off towards the window with the moonlight. "What was this 'courting' like?"

Wolfram raised an eyebrow. It was an interesting question coming from Yuuri. He debated briefly if he should answer or not. He was having such a fun time; it seemed a shame ruining it.

"It…um…usually ended the same way each time…if I was pleased." He captured a light between his palms, opened, and then gave a gentle blow. The white fuzzie zoomed forward for a moment, looped, and, then, arced downward.

"Which was?" Yuuri asked, eyeing a particularly curious one that kept trying to land on him.

The white lights around Wolfram blinked at random. The blond pointed at a few and redirected them to drift behind Yuuri.

Now, he truly looked magical.

_Perfect._

"It was like…this…" Wolfram touched Yuuri's chin and turned his face to the side. He pecked Yuuri's cheek softly, feeling the smooth skin against his lips. Then, he released him in favor of catching another one of Yuuri's "fireflies." But, it was mostly awkwardness that spurred him to it and the sad smile was a betrayal of his thoughts.

There was no way Yuuri cared for him back—not like that. So, there was no need to be nervous or to hope for more. They would stay together until Yuuri tired of him or until the end came. Wolfram wondered if it would be bloody and painful. If it was, there could be no helping it.

The double black simply sat there, stroking his cheek. On the one hand, he got an unexpected kiss from Wolfram. He hadn't been prepared for it at all. On the other hand, a cheek kiss was a bit of a letdown considering the high drama of their wedding kiss. "That's all?" he asked as he remembered something else "dramatic"--the night, early on in their relationship, when he found Wolfram naked in his bed.

The blond fire wielder wasn't exactly the shy type.

"On first courtings, yes." Wolfram smirked at him. "But, if I allowed a second one…"

"And, I'm sure you did," he folded his arms against his chest. It felt strange to be talking about Wolfram's past in such a way. There was something stinging his heart a little when he did it, too, but the morbid fascination was too much. Wolfram almost never talked about himself.

"Maybe," Wolfram came back with a slight sexiness in the tone, "when Gwendal wasn't looking."

"I see…"

Wolfram laughed boyishly. "It was so long ago…in a way…" He fanned another "firefly" with his palm and sent the white fuzzy towards the vanity.

"And, then what?" Yuuri prodded unashamedly. He was really curious and felt drawn in—included as a part of Wolfram's world.

"Seriously?"

"Yup."

Wolfram's face took on a prideful expression. "Something different."

Yuuri leaned in conspiratorially. He hadn't dated anyone in his entire life and really wanted to know what Wolfram did in those days. "Such as…?"

The blond seemed torn, now—not sure if he should and not sure if Yuuri knew what he was asking for. True, a cheek kiss could be seen as "nothing" and Yuuri, he guessed, probably saw it that way considering the fact that they were, now, technically married.

_But Yuuri opened himself up to this possibility._

"Well, if someone seemed attractive enough…" Wolfram leaned in with thinly disguised desire reflected in his eyes, wondering how far he could go before being pushed away. "And…_deserving_…" He twisted his position slightly with hands now cupping Yuuri's surprised face.

The blond was so close now that he could feel warm breath on his lips.

The double black found himself frozen, but working hard just to remember breathing. He watched Wolfram but didn't move away.

"…I could be persuaded to…"

Long, slender fingers slid warm trails down. Arms wound themselves around Yuuri's neck. He found himself pressed chest to chest with the fire wielder holding him. Fingers dug into the back of the double black's pajama top, clinging to the material.

Yuuri didn't even know what he was doing when he lowered his head to meet up with Wolfram. Their lips touched for nothing more than a slight peck before Wolfram turned his head away.

_Wait! That's all?_ Yuuri thought, coming down from whatever high he was getting from being held intimately against the blond. He was feeling disappointed again.

Very disappointed.

"Not quite what you expected?" the blond bishonen asked, turning away and taking up his previous position—sitting shoulder to shoulder with Yuuri.

The double black nodded. He couldn't help himself. "It's just that…normally…you're so…energetic and loud and aggressive…" He didn't add the fact that the fear of Wolfram forcing himself on him—unexpectedly at some point—had been a factor in separating them all these years.

Wolfram's face became a thin line. He didn't like the direction this was going. Not at all.

"And, then…" he babbled on.

That caused an incredulous look. _What? You have more to say?_

"What was I expected to think? Remember that time, back in the beginning, when I found you naked in my bed? I didn't even know you very well back then!"

Wolfram's eyes bugged slightly and he tilted his head back for a loud, unashamed laugh. This time, he didn't care who heard in the middle of the night. "Oh, that! Ha! Ha!" He doubled up, holding his ribs tightly as he did so. "Oh, you should have seen yourself at the time!"

It was so funny! He almost snorted.

Yuuri wore an indignant look which sent Wolfram into further fits of laughter.

"I knew how you'd react. So funny! So…so funny!" The blond wanted to curl into a ball now and flop over.

"Eh?" Yuuri said, incredulous. "You mean you were just messing with me?"

With glee, Wolfram shook his head up and down. He wiped tears onto the back of his hand. It had been decades since he'd laughed so hard.

"Even back then, Yuuri, I knew you didn't want me." Wolfram continued to chuckle and wipe his face, coming down from laughter but Yuuri stiffened at the words—remembering what Shinou had said when they were on the horse. He could see into Wolfram's heart and he knew everything.

The double black bowed his head, glancing away. He'd had trouble with Wolfram from the start, but he always felt that, in some unalterable way, the troublesome blond had a special hold on his heart. Maybe, the problem was that he'd never said the words or explained himself. And he probably didn't because the limbo he'd created neither truly encouraged nor absolutely crushed Wolfram's desire for a marriage and a family.

Yuuri scratched the back of his head in thought. Privately, how distressed Wolfram must have been—wanting something so simple—something many others had—that was out of his grasp? Even now, the extent to which he would go to in order to cover up his heartache must take considerable effort.

_And a moment ago, he said, "Even back then, Yuuri, I knew you didn't want me." _

Then, Yuuri glanced at his ring. _And you got what you wanted so badly, Wolfram. But it wasn't done the right way. It must have felt like cheating, huh? It was handed to you, our marriage…but you didn't earn it. That thing you wanted most of all… my heart._

With fading streak marks, all of the tiny lights in the room arced downward. Like a sliver fountain firework to celebrate New Year's, the individual paths lingered for a brief second and went dark.

It brought Yuuri back from his thoughts. "Wow, Wolfram…I…"

Then, he gasped. "Wolfram? Are you okay?"

The blond was sitting in the bed cross-legged now. His forearms were resting on his knees. He was bent over and head nearly touching the covers on the bed.

"I…thought I was feeling better. And, then, suddenly…" He fought back the sudden urge to drool and dry heave.

Yuuri frowned as he pulled the blond hair back from the bishonen's face with a gentle motion. "My mother does the same thing all the time. She'll get sick and the moment she thinks she feels better, she does too much and gets sick again."

Without a word in response, his head dipped forward followed by his forearms slipping off and, bodily, he lurched. Coming back to himself, Wolfram visibly struggled to sit in the position he was in before, palms helping him do a feeble pushup. "Dizzy," the blond groaned as he released the next breath.

"_Wolfram_." Yuuri said the name with a mixture of that "I'm-tired-of-arguing-with-Wolfram-battle-fatigue" and that of concern.

Strong hands held Wolfram's shoulders for a minute before guiding him backwards. Wolfram felt his body fall onto the mattress and his head hit pillows that seemed too new and way too fluffy. They slid to the side and others bounced against his head. Sick as he was, he knew not to mention the odd pillows. He didn't want Yuuri to think he'd gone strange in the head along with everything else.

Add to the fact, black eyes loomed above and were regarding him with determination. It was a look that held pale shades of The Maou spirit's strong feelings.

"Y-Yuuri?"

"Now, you're going to listen to me." He wagged a finger. "Shinou is in there…somewhere…" He pointed at the blond's head and then chest. "He's trying to heal you but you have to do your part, too."

"Really?" This was news to Wolfram. His face held, for a moment, a reflection of child-like innocence that made the double black want to hold him, shield him from whatever danger should find them in the night.

"Yeah," Yuuri continued. "You've got to get rest. And you've got to get better." He felt that Wolf would not like the next part, though. "And, if you get more gaps in your memory, it's only because Shinou's helping us out. So, not to worry. In fact, I'm ordering you not to."

But Wolfram did worry. The time skips made him feel powerless and unprepared for whatever would come next. Disjointed time with no memories made his soul feel misplaced, disregarded, and lost.

Wolfram shivered a little at the thought of when _this_ memory—this "now"—would end and the next one would begin. Shinou had power over that. He didn't.

Yuuri stretched out next to him, analyzing the handsome face that he knew only too well. "None of what I just said worked, huh? You're not going to fall asleep, are you?"

Wolfram, his nausea fading, stared up at the silk canopy with a trace of annoyance. "I'm fine now…just… not sleepy." He puffed out his chest a little.

Yuuri chuckled knowingly. "Oh, yes…you are." He rolled over to lean in. "I can tell by the way you're rubbing your left eye."

"Eh?" He froze. The fisted hand rubbing stopped as well.

"You're forcing yourself to stay awake," he explained as he took Wolfram around the waist and pulled him in, spooning against him.

The blond gasped. Even with his soldier's training, he couldn't stop himself from doing it. It seemed so unlike Yuuri and so sudden. They weren't like this together, right?

"Problem?" the double black asked, forcing his voice to remain calm and confident when he wasn't entirely sure that his bedmate wouldn't fry him for being too "familiar." The two peck-like kisses encouraged that impression.

Wolfram, even in the dark, blanched.

_You're nervous, too, huh? Yeah, I'm the same way. But one of us can comfort the other…especially in times like these. And, I'd like to try…so…_

With a bit of trepidation that the blond couldn't see, he placed his head next to Wolfram's—sharing the same fat pillow, now. "Why are you acting like this?" the double black whispered quietly in his ear. "We're married…you're sick. I thought you wouldn't have any objections."

"I-I…d-don't," he stuttered and buried his face into the new pillow.

He pushed himself up on an elbow to glance at the blond's face. It was priceless—shock and awe—all in one along with the pathetic attempt to hide it. An eye twitched.

Yuuri laughed with growing confidence, repositioning Wolfram's shocked stiff body into a position that was more comfortable for him.

"Oi, Wolf? Remember all that laughing you did at me because you were lying naked in this bed all those years ago?"

"Y-Yes," Wolfram breathed. He hoped blushing couldn't be seen in the dark. But what if it could?

They were cuddled up. Yuuri tucked a blond head under his chin. He wrapped his arms around Wolfram's cold shoulders, flowing warmth into them through their contact.

"I wish you could have seen your own face just now." He laughed again and with more self-confidence. "It was priceless!" He rocked the blond a little in his arms.

It felt right.

"Wha-?" In spite of the much craved attention, Wolfram looked wounded to the core.

"Seriously!"

"Stop it," Wolfram growled.

"No, really. It's too bad you couldn't see." Then, a thought struck. "Oi, maybe I should get a huge mirror hung on the ceiling of the canopy so you can see your face more often. Wouldn't that be great?"

Wolfram's head shifted up sharply—making Yuuri's head snap back. "Wha-???" He blustered, "Perv. Hentai." But, not at any point did he give up the closeness between them. He snuggled into Yuuri's warmth as he repeated "perv" followed by unintelligible grumbles.

"That really would be?" Yuuri asked innocently. He wasn't sure why Wolf would think those things. Maybe, it was cultural. Or, maybe, he just didn't want to see himself in the morning with messed-up hair and was dreaming up insulting words to dissuade him.

His theory was shot down when he heard, "Yes! Of course. What do you think?!"

"How?" Curiously, he tilted his head away to stare at narrowed, green eyes.

With a tugging frown, Wolfram snuggled closer to the double black's calming heartbeat and was mildly surprised that he allowed it. "Because…_just because_…"

"Because?" The double black was enjoying the teasing now. He tilted up Wolfram's face by the chin with a single finger, awaiting an answer.

Green met black.

The blond turned away. "I want to go to sleep," Wolfram fussed into his chest.

"Sleep, huh? That's good, Wolfram." The arms continued to hold him. And Yuuri noted, with some satisfaction, the stress lines on Wolfram's face were slowly disappearing with such a simple thing.

"Good night, Wolfram."

"Hmmm…._wimp_…" Snore.

"Not a wimp…" Then, he thought about it. "Well, in some ways, not for much longer…maybe."

He ran soft strands of blond hair through his fingers. Even in his sleep, the feisty fire wielder seemed to take to it—humming contentedly—which was more than cute.

Yuuri knew that he was still scared of what he felt and what he _might not feel_. But, at least, he had some kind of direction now that he was brave enough to take Wolfram into his arms. And he knew that the little things he did with Wolf made a difference.

Wolfram von Bielefeld was a life worth saving, worth caring about. And not just anyone—noble or not—was worthy.

And as for the blond in his arms, he slept soundly throughout the night and didn't kick—not even once.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

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Blood Pledge Castle's pink rose garden was absolutely delightful. The table was set, the weather was perfect, and a white butterfly flitted past. Murata sat there with a plate full of warm tea cakes in front of him. There was a silver tea set, too, highly polished to the point where he could see a distorted reflection of himself with freshly dyed brownish-black hair.

It wasn't his natural color, but it would do.

The breeze had died down and Murata was waiting for…someone. The chair before him was empty but a place setting was ready.

"What am I doing here?" He craned his head, looking.

Shinou's shadow appeared first followed by the rest of him—ridiculously dressed in his bright, archaic royal robes.

Recognizing him, Murata scowled and stood abruptly from his chair. "Whatever you have to say, I'm not listening," he said darkly. The chair scooted back as he tried to make his way to the garden gate even though he was certain, now, that this was an elaborate vision and inescapable until the Original King's spirit decided to let him go.

But, still, this was what he would do in real life.

"That's most unfortunate," Shinou sighed a bit melodramatically as he took the teapot in hand. "I was hoping that you'd stay for an apology."

The sage turned back with "Apology? Since when do you apolo…?"

Murata froze, his mouth open to reply that he didn't care what the ancient spirit had to say. Instead, he lost his words as he watched dark green ink pour in a thin stream from the teapot and into Shinou's own cup.

"Ink?" He readjusted his glasses with a finger. "The letters…" Murata said in wonder as he approached the table. "You've figured out who has been writing them..."

The cup was full of the poison brew and Shinou, arms folded, leaned back in the chair. "Oh, someone is very smart…very…" He picked up the cup and swirled the contents. For a half second, Murata worried that the blond would drink it until he remembered, and wanted to dope slap himself, that Shinou had died eons ago and that, in fact, he'd been the one to pluck out his soul—causing Murata to feel emotions better left buried in his heart.

"Someone at the castle has a means of shielding the knowledge from me. I have searched but to no avail." Then he put the cup down. "What I can suggest is that you question the prisoners again in the dungeons. I know that they will be taken away for trial soon. But, it couldn't hurt to _question_ them."

Murata shook his head. He knew only too well what Shinou was implying. And, even now, those methods still existed and worked. However, with Yuuri as king, things were different. "As for just questioning them, we've done that and got nothing out of them. And Yuuri is especially determined that we cannot use force or even the _suggestion_ of force."

Shinou smiled winningly at that and stretched his arms over his head—almost purring like a feline. "Well, that means…I can question them, doesn't it?"

The black haired sage worked hard to suppress a grin. "You're really getting involved in this one."

The blond pushed his cape over his shoulder smugly. "Someone is trying to poison my descendent…not to mention they are shielding themselves to get away with the matter, and using a highly unusual poison for the task—Thrussian Green ink."

"Thrussian?" Murata's eyes widened with possibilities. He had, in one lifetime, been a metal worker who had thick leather gloves stained with the green stuff. Back then, he'd preferred simple mill and lathe work and charged extra for the use of the green ink. He'd had an expensive antidote on hand, too, just in case. "But wouldn't rat poison be far easier to use? Not to mention that Monk's Hood grows just down the lane along with Water Dropwart."

"My viewpoint exactly." Shinou smirked at the tulip shaped white china cup.

Murata nodded. "When I awake from this…_dream_..." He emphasized the last word as he sat down again. "I'll search all of the chemists' shops in the village. And I'll get a list of everyone who has bought some."

"You'll find nothing."

Murata shot him a hard look. "Fine, then, I'll try the herbalists."

Shinou quirked a grin at him. "You could…" It was followed by a knowing chuckle. "Or…you could search for an ingredient list and, then, there's always… the new herb garden next to the royal kitchens."

Murata took a sharp breath. "Who ordered that to be planted?"

"No one recalls."

Black eyes widened and he leaned forward. "You possessed someone else and searched around?"

Shinou grinned sheepishly.

"Several someones?"

The Original King shrugged a "maybe."

Then, seeing the smug look, Murata continued. "Of course you did. Why did I even bother to ask?"

"What I couldn't believe was that Sir Weller and Yuuri Heika actually thought I was snoring loudly on the royal bed all of that time." He scratched the side of his nose when a stray strand of blond hair tickled it. "But, afterwards, I'm sure Yuuri Heika enjoyed his moment in the dark with Wolfram. He seems so determined these days to have his blond by his side." The spirit wiggled an eyebrow.

_A king and his blond…_ In the sage's memory, he caught a flash of a five month pregnant Rufus looking up with pure adoration at Shinou. How incredibly lucky she was—lucky above all others. A battle-scarred hand laced fingers with her and she blushed.

Murata wore a sour face and looked away.

"Oh, and by the by," The Original King said as he leaned forward, "I do apologize for the comments I made about your hair. I went a step too far, didn't I?"

Gruffly, Murata made a gesture to wave it off. "It's nothing. Forget about it." But his tone was still bitter and the sage's posture seemed rigid.

Looking at him from the corner of his eye, Shinou went on with, "There are other things I should apologize for, too, but…"

Sternly and with shoulders back, the sage replied, "I am Murata Ken now. And there's nothing that you've done to _me_. So, just drop it, okay?"

The blond across from him nodded. "Nothing…_yet_," he agreed and watched with a flicker of joy as Murata took the bait.

"Oi! What do you mean, 'nothing yet'?" But the ancient spirit faded away with an annoying laugh and Murata found himself so irritated that he wanted to scream.

* * *

Something moved in his arms. Another moment passed by and it shifted again, trying to get comfortable. Slowly, Yuuri opened his eyes and realized that he had a certain blond clutched possessively to his chest. Wolfram was calm, dead to the world, with a slim smile gracing his face.

"When you're like this," the double black whispered, "I can almost believe you're an angel." He stroked Wolfram's cheek with his thumb. "…Almost…"

Then, he noticed it.

A thin piece of hair twisted up at an angle and Yuuri couldn't resist the temptation to toy with it.

A tiny spiral.

A curve to the right.

A straight line that withered at the top.

He teased the golden curl until it curved to his every whim and, then, his fingers delved into blond hair—brushing the strands and then letting them fall silkily between his fingers.

He had been so afraid of this, of being close. Now, it seemed, it wasn't just Wolfram or the ways in which they'd gotten engaged or married that bothered him. It was simply being intimate with another person.

At school, he'd been on the outside looking in when it came to relationships. Yuuri had noticed boyfriends and girlfriends, the hand holding, and brief "goodbye" smooches at the school gate when the couples thought no one was noticing. Obviously, he noticed but pretended not to. That was proper, after all. But, being with someone was so new that it was positively alarming. And distancing himself from Wolfram and from their situation didn't make things easier. Quite the opposite. It made him lonely and it made him crave for something that he could not name. But, now, with Wolfram next to him like this and, finally, recovering—he felt at peace. And, if he could, he'd wish for his life to be filled with moments like this—simple ones.

"Yuuri," the blond sighed with contentment and the double black picked up the edge of the comforter and draped it around Wolfram's cool shoulders.

Still dozing, Wolfram smiled and Yuuri stroked the blond locks to his heart's content.

_More like this. I want more time…more moments…with you. _

_My wish for us._

* * *

No matter how many times Yuuri ordered it, the servants couldn't scrub away the smell of "city zoo" from the ancient dungeons below. Patiently, Conrad had tried to explain why, but Yuuri wouldn't hear of it. It was the Japanese in him that dictated the necessity of keeping everything clean and smelling nice. And that included the dank, rising damp of the dungeons underneath the castle.

In one cell, two unwashed men were sleeping on their cots. Their snores had been irritating from the start, but the Mazoku noblewoman in the next cell had gotten used to it. After all, she'd learned to tolerate the stone walls around her and the single, barred, tiny window way above her head. So, the sound with nothing, really.

She combed her lemon hair as she sat in bed with blankets wrapped around her, thinking of it all.

How long had she been kept here without trial? She didn't know, but she'd been told by a servant who brought dinner that night that their trials would be soon. Apparently, down in the village, a judge had just arrived with a small entourage of clerks.

They should have been tried much earlier on than this considering the circumstances, but Yuuri Heika had insisted upon the justice system going at its usual pace and that no special treatment should be given just because of his own, gladly "bungled" assassination attempt. Of course, to everyone in the kingdom, that very modest and understanding statement translated to, "I'd like the bastards kept in the dungeon for as long as possible. So, stretch things out a little."

It was a pity that Yuuri didn't understand that. And even Conrad didn't bother to correct it.

So, now, the woman known as Lady Agnes Rochefort, who was once the toast of the Mazoku upper class circles four decades ago, now found herself behind bars and awaiting judgment.

She snorted, arms folded as she took in her dim cell again. The blasted servant probably wouldn't come by to collect her food tray until almost noon. Set on the floor, there were still the thickening remains of her chunky, black bean soup—the scent of which was beginning to turn her stomach.

_Yuck! Peasant food!_

If things had gone off as planned by her contact and financial backer from Big Cimaron, she would have been able to leave quietly and without anyone suspecting a thing. She simply had the connections that their group needed. And, her only real part to play was supposed to be in gathering information and introducing the "right people" to the "right people." But, she was determined to kill the half-breed king by her own hand if it came to it—most likely around the time of the reception if they couldn't get him during the ceremony. But Lady Agnes knew from past royal weddings that the guests were commonly scrutinized for weapons. So, that was why one of her cohorts, playing the role of an usher, was to pass her a dagger at the right moment. She was quite skilled with throwing them, she discovered, after a little practice at her summer home.

Too bad Wolfram "the King's Whore" von Bielefeld spotted her accomplice with the poison-tipped dagger in the far left corner.

Oh, it was so frustrating when she really thought about it! All it would have taken was a scratch—just a single one—and the king would be cold in the ground by now.

_And, then, that half-breed…Conrad Weller._ Agnes made tight fists and stared a hole into the thick, wooden cell door. _He jumped in, too, didn't he?_

A half breed protecting a half breed.

It was so upsetting—no, down right _embarrassing _would be a more accurate description—that the country was being ruled by such a "beneath her," "dirt under her foot" underling. But that was the way that Shinou had planned it and, clearly, the ancient spirit had been fooled into thinking that a better life was possible under this child's care. Yuuri Heika's main goal, ridiculous as it was to think of, was peace between the races.

_Absurd!_

But it wasn't just Yuuri Heika. Now that she thought about it, Lady Agnes didn't trust The Great Sage, either. He was much worse than anyone could have imagined—a human in this lifetime. And, in her humble opinion, he was no more than a sage who had degenerated into a passive sympathizer for Shin Makoku. The only consolations would be that his advice would be weak, ineffective, and tainted.

_Dirt! Vermin! _Humans were filth and their blood, dirty.

Sunrise had not come, making the sky outside of the woman's window a deep blue color. Half hidden by the clouds, the moon hung in the sky, almost glumly.

A sharp breeze blew in, making her shiver and dive down in her pool of blankets—five in all, which some of the servants called "excessive." But, prisoner or not, she was used to making demands and getting what she wanted of only she yelled loudly enough.

"Lady Agnes, isn't it?"

With a sharp gasp, the Mazoku turned abruptly to see that standing next to her modest, narrow bed was The Original King, dressed in the finery that he typically wore for his portraits. His body held an opaque, ghostly form but it was solid enough to take a seat at the foot of the bed while she trembled.

Her heart raced. Shinou! This was really Shinou!

He was here! Right here! In her cell! Oh, this was a blessing. Agnes clasped her hands together as in prayer. The ancient spirit was here—supporting all she had done and had planned to do. She had not acted against the country after all. She had done Shinou's will. She just didn't know it at the time. He must have guided her, step by step, from the very beginning.

"S-Shinou…sama…?" her voice hopeful.

Leaning in, The Original King grinned at her with a cruel smile and his eyes flicked into slits.

"Let's have a little talk, shall we?"

A freezing cold hand cupped her face and there was the sound of material ripping to shreds.

A victim's scream followed, but no one came. All of the prisoners and guards down below were in a deep, dreamless asleep.

* * *

Wolfram shifted again against Yuuri's chest, waking him once more. The double black smiled with a sheepish grin as a pale hand groped for the silk sheet that had fallen away from him yet again.

The hand searching was cute.

Wolfram muttering under his breath about it was cute.

Then, giving up with a dissatisfied grunt, Wolfram cuddled closer to Yuuri—hoping to find both warmth and comfort.

"Wolfram, you're going to get cold," Yuuri whispered to him in a soft admonishment as he pulled the sheets and blankets up once more.

"Yuu…ri?" Wolfram gave a grumble and a groan, moving against the double black sleepily until Wolfram's leg fell in between both of Yuuri's.

"EH???"

The double black was awake now—very much awake! And his face flushed with heat until he told himself that this was just Wolfram being restless. He had a habit of doing weird things like that.

"Nnn…" Wolfram rubbed his nose against Yuuri's shoulder.

"Wolf?" Yuuri said, eyeing the blond to see if he could be awakened gently. At the same time, he was debating how he was going to rid himself of Wolf's invasive leg. "Wolf?"

_Sheesh! All I need now is for you to suddenly make a knee with that leg of yours and push up. And I don't feel like getting my nether regions racked this early in the morning. No, scratch that. Let's try…ever!_

"Wolf?" he called softly and tried to move his crotch out of the way by shifting his hips. "You…awake?"

He glanced down at Wolfram's profile as a green eye looked up at him.

"Wolf." The name was said with affection and a sigh of relief. "Wolf, I…uh…"

The blond head moved away from Yuuri's chest and a blue eye winked up at him. "Good morning…_my king_."

"Wait!!! What?!"

A Shinouish smile greeted Yuuri as he did his best to scramble away—as far away as the bed would allow and then some—taking covers and blankets with him.

Still going, the double black tipped off the bed and fell on his back, legs spread in the air in a wide "V."

"Is that an _invitation_…Yuuri Heika?" was asked with mock innocence.

Before he could utter a comeback, Shinou laughed at him.

Yuuri straightened himself up and leaned across the bed at Shinou. "You could have at least warned me when you decided to possess Wolfram's body again!"

"Yes, well… You didn't seem to mind where I put my leg just then, so…"

Yuuri could feel the blood flush to his face. It wasn't fair. That was a private moment that he thought he had between himself and Wolfram.

"No, actually…" Shinou chuckled at him and then dropped the blankets away from his shoulders. "Truth be told, it was just Wolfram rolling around as he usually does. He'll have no memory of it and the only reason I knew was because I was possessing Wolfram's body again." The smile faded and Shinou gave an even stare to Yuuri—which felt much, much worse. "So, you're off the hook."

"Ah…I see…" Yuuri looked down to break eye contact with him. For some reason, he just needed to.

"Well, actually…you don't." Shinou finished it with a yawn and a good, hard scratch of the golden locks. "I found out a few things while you were sleeping."

"Really?" Black eyes widened. "What?"

"My advice would be to have Anissina analyze the daggers for poison."

Yuuri shook his head. "We already know that they were. Gwendal could just glance at the daggers and tell."

Shinou tossed an annoyed glance at the double black. "Let me finish a thought, will you?"

_Now, that sounds more like Wolfram. Yes, those two are definitely related and both are not morning people._

"What I was going to say… before I was so _rudely_ interrupted…" Shinou kicked the blankets away from his legs. "I would suggest seeing whether or not the poison on the daggers were made with the same herbs and elixirs as the poisoned ink in the letters."

"Well…yeah!" Yuuri nodded at that. It made sense.

"Even if the recipe isn't exactly the same," Shinou went on, "there's a good chance that the 'cook' of this poison tends to prefer the same ingredients…or similar ones."

Wolfram's body stretched a little and, then, Yuuri saw it circling the bed. Shinou reached out a hand to him to help him up.

Hesitating for a second, Yuuri took it and Shinou grinned at him.

_Maybe, Shinou's not so bad after all._

"Whoa! Wait! _Shinou!_"

In the next second, Shinou had taken Yuuri roughly around the waist with both arms. "Also, my dear…" he whispered in the double black's ear, "there were _four_ people in that party of assassins, not just the three you have locked up in the dungeons right now. And that's not new information for some of the people who are around you…protecting you…"

_There's one more out there?_

Yuuri's jaw dropped a little and he shrunk back when Wolfram's face neared his to take advantage of it.

"So, you're saying that Gwendal or Conrad or some of the others knew that…and didn't tell me?"

Shinou chuckled and leaned in again.

Yuuri made an "eep" sound when his back hit the not-quite flat, eastern stone wall of his bedroom. The double black glanced around him, troubled. _How did this happen?_ He narrowed his eyes, hoping to give a "don't mess with me" vibe. The blond, in turn, released him but, instead, put palms on the wall—to the right side and the left side of his head. Shinou used his chest to pin Yuuri in place.

"So, who is it?" Yuuri gritted out, turning his face away so that Shinou couldn't take advantage and kiss him. "A name…"

A name. He really needed a name and a face to connect with this. In his mind, it gave the final assassin less power if he simply knew that much.

"Don't know," floated in his ear followed by a puff of warm air.

It wasn't sexy at all. Yuuri wanted to scratch his ear now. Maybe, The Great Sage liked that kind of thing, but he didn't.

"What I do know?" the blond went on in a seductive tone, and he was enjoying this moment very much. "The person's from Big Cimaron, has connections which funded bribes for the little failed attempt, and…" He smiled against Yuuri's cheek. "All of the communications to the three would-be assassins at your wedding… were by letter…not in person. But that fourth assassin was definitely in Shin Makoku…and believed to be at your wedding…somewhere…during the ceremony."

Shinou was quite proud. He'd done an excellent job of _persuading_ Lady Agnes to cooperate. Yes, a most excellent job even if he did say so himself.

Shinou moved his palms to Yuuri's shoulders, fingers pressing in.

A sharp intake of breath. Blue and green eyes suddenly brightened into a highly polished emerald color. "Get your hands off of Yuuri, Shinou!"

Yuuri blinked in surprise at the body still pinning him to the wall. "Wolfram!"

"And, Shinou, if you so much as lay a lip on him, I won't let you possess me anymore _AND _I'll tell The Great Sage about all of those times you peeked on him in the shower _AND_ those times you made him have dreams about _touching_…!" He wiggled his eyebrows in meaning. "You know what I'm talking about! Hear me? I'll do it!"

Wolfram, chin turned up, was shouting at the ceiling, but Yuuri knew what was really going on.

"A…Agreed…" was gritted out after Wolfram's body crumbled against Yuuri's. The double black caught him, steadying him.

After a few shallow breaths, blue and green eyes returned and Shinou sighed with frustration. "Fine, fine… He's yours…" Shinou released Yuuri and took a few steps away. "I was only joking anyway" he grumbled to himself.

Leave it to Wolfram and Yuuri Heika to take the fun out of things.

Yuuri ruffled his own hair with a disbelieving "Yeah, right" while his heart went out to Wolfram. Even trapped where he was, Wolfram somehow knew Shinou was taking advantage and he wouldn't allow it. Then, Yuuri thought about it. "By the way, why don't you just let Wolfram have his body back…if he's so much trouble, I mean?"

Yes, he would like that. Even Wolfram's fireball-nature was preferable to the unpredictable power of Shinou.

The Original King gave him a crooked smile. It was surprising how quickly he could switch gears like that. "Well, to begin with, I'm not the hot head that he is."

Yuuri almost scoffed at that openly.

"Plus, he'd probably walk right past a clue and never know it. And, then…" He turned to face Yuuri. "Someone's got to be your chaperone." He laughed at his joke, not being able to keep his face straight any longer. "Besides, someone's trying to shield their actions from me and I want to know how it's being done."

_Okay, that last one sounds more like the truth_, Yuuri thought. But he frowned at the Original King when he heard him continue to utter the word "chaperone" with devious chuckles in the background.

"Seriously?" Yuuri crossed his arms in disbelief. "You? A chaperone?" The words "Shinou" and "chaperone" were as alike as bookends. "Do you even see yourself as being the morally responsible type?"

The blond turned and placed hands at his heart and in a mocking tone said, "I'm crushed that you'd think I lacked a moral compass."

Meanwhile, down in the dungeon, Lady Agnes, still naked from the waist up, was hanging, suspended by her wrists—tied up with her very own lace bra to the iron bars at the window looking into her cell.

Rat whiskers had been drawn on her face in black bean soup as well as a long, curvy "tail" painted on her back with the word "traitor" on her forehead.

And it had taken her a full thirty minutes of deciding what to do. But, finally, she did.

She'd call for help.

"Hello?! Guards?!" She shook her head violently, fat breasts doing a lumpy bunny-flop. "Guards! Oi! Shinou's ripped off my bra and it's stretching out!" She struggled, pulling hard and only managing to stand on tippi-toes. "Somebody get in here and help me with my _bra_!" She yelled even louder, "And it's getting cold in here!"

"Guards?"

"Guards?!"

"SOMEBODY!"


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

.

.

"The truth is rarely pure and never simple."

~Oscar Wilde

.

One of the scruffy, male prisoners was lying on his side, avoiding the weak light coming in from the narrow window above his bed. The blanket, which would ordinarily be wrapped around his body like a cocoon was, now, piled in a lump over his head and shoulders to block out the brightness.

"What's goin' on now?" he asked his cellmate in a gruff voice. Not that he cared, really, considering the circumstances. But, he was so thoroughly bored that anything—anything at all—(including yesterday's cockroach race) was mildly interesting in this place.

The tall man who was wearing a brown shirt and saggy, khaki trousers was quite a contrast from the way he'd looked at Yuuri and Wolfram's wedding. Back then, he was dressed as a well-groomed usher. Now, he was closer to his true self.

He shifted his face a little against the iron. "Uh, wait," he grunted over his shoulder. Then, eagerly, he went back to his previous occupation of pressing his sallow cheek as close as possible so that he could peek out the bars of the small window set into the wooden door. "They're taking her away right now to see a healer."

Oh, this was something new. "Really, Ned?"

Three brawny guards stomped by quickly, but added to it was the sound of dragging feet against the uneven, stone floor.

"No! I don't want to go! There's nothing wrong. Why won't you people believe me?" There were the sounds of struggles with the shout of "It's the truth, I tell you!" She bellowed twice after that before a guard pulled out a handkerchief and gagged her. She should have been grateful that it was clean.

With a devious chuckle, the tall man turned away from the window. "Now, _that_ was something, Tom."

The man on the cot turned flat on his back and opened up one lazy eye. "So, tell me what goes?" He cocked his shabby head to the side, waiting for the juicy gossip to pass his companion's lips.

"Well, Tom, from what I could overhear, it seems that Lady Agnes had a 'visitor' last night in her cell."

The other man bolted upright, blanket falling away from him. "Was it…_you know_?" It would be incredible if it was. The guards were thick around the dungeon these days.

"Nah," Ned said and moved back to his own cot to take a seat, arms resting on his thighs. "It wasn't 'The Fourth.' That would be something, eh? Considering we don't know what he looks like."

There was a grave nod before Tom asked, "Then, who came? Was it Lord Weller again or was it Lord von Voltaire?" He chuckled darkly before adding, "I know how much they want to get the dirt from us. Tried and tried, they did… But we won't talk." He grinned with yellow teeth. "So, was it Weller or von Voltaire?"

Ned's face broke out into a wide grin. "Neither one."

"Seriously? Okay, who? Who came?"

A devious chuckle. "You're going to love this one…"

"Oh… That…uh…Günter guy. Yeah, him! At least, I think it's a 'him' but that voice is so much like a woman's…"

A brown head shook "no." So, he tried again. "von Bielefeld? Lady Cheri?"

Ned rolled his eyes at the last one. "If Lady Cheri had tricked her way into coming down here, believe me, we'd all be dead. She used to rule, remember? And I hear she was so ruthless that she sent her own sons to the front line of the last war."

"Except Pretty-Baby Wolfram."

"Too young. And that's a fact."

Tom shrugged indifferently. Actually he'd heard that the ex-Demon Queen had insisted on coming down to speak to them, but had been told "no" by her oldest son. They'd had quite an argument over it, too, but Lord von Voltaire had stood his ground with her.

"I give up," Tom said. "Who came?"

"Well, according to Lady Agnes, it was Shinou!"

"Eh??" He just couldn't wrap his mind around it. "Lady Agnes…the "Queen of Mean"… was graced by the sacred spirit of Shinou himself? The great, kind, and benevolent spirit of the realm?" He used a sarcastic tone, but he half believed what he was saying.

Ned laughed with a wide mouth and stomped his feet joyfully at that. "Oh, and when they found her today she was covered in soup, stripped naked from the waist up, and tied to the bars with her own bra!"

"No!" he breathed.

"Yes!" Ned came back with boyish glee. "I heard the guards when it happened. Right before you woke up."

Tom scratched his chin a little and stared across at Ned. "You know what this means, right?"

"Oh, yeah."

They both eyed each other and said at once, "Insanity plea."

Tom pounded a hand into his fist. "I wish I had thought of that. Everyone knows Yuuri Heika is a weak king with too much sympathy for prisoners. If I had thought of it, I would have gladly tossed my dinner on me self and done a little, bouncy air sprite dance around the cell."

Ned easily agreed. "Well, it's too late for us to try that one." He stretched out on his cot, folded his arms behind his head, and stared at the ceiling. "But to go so far as to say that Shinou had done it all and to throw such a wall-eyed fit just going to the healer's to have her checked out…?

"Oh, she's faking it," Tom confirmed with a wry grin, admiring her work. "But, what a fantastic acting job."

"Yeah, I'm a little bit jealous."

"Exactly."

* * *

Breakfast began, more or less, as a quiet affair. And Yuuri couldn't help but eye "Wolfram" as he nibbled on the edge of a piece of toast with a distracted look on his face. Every once in awhile, he'd meet eyes with someone across the table from him. But, all too quickly, he'd sink back into his own thoughts.

Maybe, there was trouble ahead. On the other hand, maybe Shinou was just a picky eater. Yuuri didn't know.

There was a tinkling laugh followed by the words, "Oh, darling!" which made Yuuri glance around the table.

Lady Cheri was busy flirting with Dom over a bowl of strawberries. He lapped up the attention quite eagerly. Günter and Gwendal were discussing some of Yuuri's social calendar duties which would take place two months from now. Claus, sitting on the other side of Günter, was trying to charm Gissela over the topic of lemon parsley and doing a fantastically poor job at it. (She hid a yawn by eating a spork-full of eggs.) There was an empty chair—as Conrad was on a one day patrol or "long day patrol" as it was called—followed by Greta who had piled up three sugar-topped buns onto her plate while spooning peach preserves onto the fantastic mound of sweetness.

There was a tapping coming from one of the stained glass windows as the outlines of two gardeners, a tall and a short, made their way into view while clipping hedges.

A kitchen door opened. One servant came in with a pitcher of juice. Another came in with a tray with sausage and bacon still sizzling.

"I want some!" Greta called to them both, hands waving in the air.

It was breakfast—more or less—as usual.

But when Günter began to prattle on about today's lesson over "plant diseases" and "great droughts in Mazoku history," the double black's eyes grew wide. _Talk about a dry subject,_ he thought _I'll never stay awake_ and then he heard Wolfram's voice say, "But, brother, I left you a note saying that I needed to have Yuuri with me today."

Yuuri turned his face from Günter's unsettling frown to the conversation between Wolfram and Gwendal.

"I saw your note… asking for a day off for Yuuri Heika and yourself," Gwendal grimaced slightly at the reason why his baby brother would want "alone time." He dearly wanted to say "no." Duties really should come first. Then, his mind flashed to the memory of Wolfram following submissively behind a furious, bear-like "Yuuri Heika" and the rumors buzzing around after that which were, in fact, almost intolerable. "But, I'd like for you to answer a simple question for me."

Shinou made an innocent face and green eyes sparkled. At that moment, Wolfram was at "maximum cuteness," something that Gwendal was having a hard time dealing with. Yuuri tried very hard not to laugh at it. This was something his Wolfram would never do at the table.

"Tell me…ummm…" Gwendal forced himself to look away with frustration. How could his precious baby brother be married when he was still able to look like an adorable child? "Tell me…how did you manage to get that note on my desk when the door was locked?"

Wolfram smirked back at him and, for a brief second, there was a tug-of-war between the brothers as their eyes met—one demanding an answer and one delaying.

Wolfram folded his arms against his chest and said, "Magic."

"That was ink, not fire magic."

An emerald eye winked at Yuuri. "I guess…you got me there," Wolfram's voice practically purred and Yuuri shrugged a "You got me there, too."

The word "granted" barely left Gwendal's lips when Wolfram snatched Yuuri by the hand and said, "We're off!" leaving the door ajar.

Wolfram's shamelessly sexy laugh echoed faintly down the hallway.

Gwendal sweat dropped and covered his face with a hand. He could practically imagine a trail of clothes on the floor leading to the royal bed chamber.

There was a stunned silence before "Ah, newlyweds," was chuckled by Dom and Lady Cheri joined him.

"What about newlyweds?" Greta asked curiously. She really didn't see what that had to do with anything going on right now.

All of the adults at the table exchanged looks. Should they answer or shouldn't they?

"Well, they like to be alone," Lady Cheri answered deviously.

"Mother!" Gwendal interjected.

The buxom blond Mazoku blinked innocently, not too unlike what Wolfram had done a minute ago.

"Why do newlyweds like to be alone?" Greta asked, breaking the stalemate between mother and son.

"You know," Lady Cheri began and then stopped when she heard her eldest son growl into his morning coffee. "…That's just the question to ask your fathers…" she suggested with a smirk in Gwendal's direction.

Yes, one last dig.

Gwendal pinched the bridge of his nose following Greta's enthusiastic "Okay!" from the opposite end of the table. Why did his mother keep stirring up trouble? He just didn't know.

* * *

"What are we doing, Shinou?" Yuuri hissed as the determined blond forced him down the next corridor.

"Wolfram! Call me '_Wolfram'_ or '_Wolf'_ or whatever pet name you've got for your husband," the blond said absently, his mind on other things.

"Right…right…" Yuuri agreed, giving an unhappy half-nod as his hand yanked him in another direction. It was just easier to follow along because Shinou, strong-willed as he was, had decided that the two of them would "go on a search." Or, at least, that's what he whispered on the way out.

"We need to go through some rooms," Wolfram's voice explained. The blond was leading the way and Yuuri watched his back as he meekly followed along.

They walked on—suddenly starting and just as suddenly stopping.

"Rooms? Which ones?" The double black was imagining places like the castle's storage rooms, the library, and the cellar.

There was a soft "humph." "Well, Yozak Gurrier's room is out. That's for certain."

"Yozak?" Yuuri said a little too loudly and got a "shush" from The Original King. The double black curled his lip at that, but decided to try again. "Why would you suspect him?"

"Well, he was the first one to report the possibility of a fourth assassin to Gwendal. He was supposedly missing from the wedding."

"Supposedly?"

There was a sudden, self-satisfied smile. "I knew that wasn't the case. It's my temple after all. I can see the auras of who comes and who goes." He winked at Yuuri. "Yours is mostly blue and white by the way—which, I'm sure is no surprise."

Yuuri wasn't sure how to respond to that.

"Also, once our orange-haired spy got back into the country…the very day of your wedding, he was busy shadowing Wolfram, Günter, and Lady Cheri." The blond glanced at him and then turned back. "It all sounded plausible…it being Gurrier. But, he didn't have the opportunity. And I didn't sense bloodlust from him at the wedding." Shinou bit his lip a little and confessed. "The strangest part is that I didn't sense any bloodlust coming from anyone until the assassins tried to make their move."

Yuuri shook his raven head in disgust. "I can't believe you suspected him."

"And Lord Weller's off the list, too." Shinou stopped abruptly and gave a slow, sexy smile. "Let's just say that his room's already been searched…several times."

Yuuri covered his gasp with the palm of his hand and then took his hand away with "You possessed Yozak and searched Conrad's room?"

Shamelessly, Shinou admitted, "Better yet, I searched _Conrad_." He wiggled an eyebrow.

"Wha-?!" Yuuri felt sick inside. "How could you do that? I mean, Conrad would feel so…so…_violated_ and everything." The double black suddenly found it very hard to breathe.

Concentrate.

He had to concentrate.

In. Out. Take breaths.

"Oh, I don't know," Shinou replied casually and resumed their trudge down the hallway, "…they didn't seem displeased about it to me. Did you notice that neither one showed up at breakfast?"

"Eh???"

"On patrol… Can you believe that everyone at the table bought that excuse? Sometimes, I amaze even myself…" It was followed up with a snicker. "Don't worry about them. They're a little bit _busy_ at the moment." Wolfram's butt did a happy little jiggle for a few steps.

"EH????"

"I believe that I've added a new spark to their relationship…old couple that they are could use that…"

He was sincere. Every word.

Black eyes dilated. "WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT???"

"Damn…caught," Wolfram's voice hissed impatiently.

In less than a second, Yuuri found himself being whirled about in the hallway. Inexplicably, his arms were around Wolfram's waist and he had the blond Mazoku bodily pinned against the nearest wall. Wolfram, somehow, had a dark blush on his cheeks, face turned in the direction of two on-coming maids with buckets, soap, and mops who had just finished cleaning the royal baths.

"O-Okay…I'll take a bath with you…" Wolfram's voice shook with submissive passion, eyes half lidded, and legs weak at the knees. He was breathing hard and his hair was, ruffled as though adoring fingers had run through it. "If…you want me to…right now…"

The blond lowered his eyes to the floor in embarrassment, but he made no effort to discourage the attentions, either.

Yuuri's jaw dropped. _What, in the Seven Hells, just happened?_ And, then, he saw the girls. Their faces were scarlet and they scurried along the corridor in the hopes of not being noticed.

Once they'd turned the corner and were out of sight, Shinou had his hand again and whispered, "This is the room I want to search next." He pulled out a key and slid it in the lock.

"Wait!" Yuuri pointed a finger in the direction the girls went. "What you…_we_…did back there was…" Getting no attention, he tapped Shinou's shoulder and then noticed the door opening wide. "Oi, where'd you get the master key?"

"Gwendal," came back the bored tone.

"Oi! Stop!" He followed in behind with a gritted, "You've got a lot to answer for. You know that?"

"As you say," Shinou stated evenly as he shut the door behind them both.

Yuuri took a peek around. The fireplace was unlit and, likely, hadn't been set ablaze for quite awhile. The small, tastefully decorated study had cranberry colored curtains with hand made white lace shears. There was a desk by the window with a lamp, small inkpot, quill, and ivory parchment along with two text books with bookmarks sticking out of the leaves.

"This is…" He turned around.

Shinou scanned the well-thumbed journals and spine-frayed tomes, all stacked neatly along with the collection of yellowing maps, rolled and safely stored away. There was a great deal of thought behind the order.

"Well organized," was the impression that came to mind before Yuuri suddenly came to himself again and blurted out the name "Günter?"

He stared dumbfounded at The Original King. "You think Günter has something to do with this?"

"Why not? Gurrier did," came Wolfram's voice as Shinou opened the desk drawer and began to search through it. "And I trust his instincts."

"Look…Oi..." Yuuri complained as he came up behind the blond. "Just…just stop this, okay? It can't be Günter."

"Oh?"

Shifting papers, rolling quills, and something akin to a thousand paperclips being suddenly set free and scattering around the drawer met Yuuri's ears and he cringed. It was at that point that he realized when trying to be quiet, any noise was like cannon fire.

"Well, for one thing," Yuuri shot back, "the letters were all love letters, right? And everybody knows that Günter…likes…" He shuffled his feet uncomfortably. "You know…" More shuffling and he glanced up. Wolfram's face was watching him. _No, it's Shinou in there, not Wolfram_.

"You know…he kind of _likes_…me." Now that he'd said it, he could go on. The double black steeled himself, back stiff. "Plus, there was something sort of…you know…_feminine_…about the letters, too. And Günter's…

Suddenly, before Yuuri and Shinou's eyes, there was an image of Günter skipping through a field of pink tulips, pouty lips pointing up. "Tra, la, la, la, la," he sang, white cape flapping in the wind.

Yuuri sighed, defeated. "Okay, scratch that last one." He raked his fingers through his black hair. "I still don't think it could be…"

Shinou held up a small glass bottle filled with green ink. There was a box opened on the desk with a small quill and paper, too, which seemed to match the color and thickness of the paper in the love letters.

Shinou raised a hand, hovering the palm over the glass bottle and a dim, blue-grey glow came forth. It darkened slowly with a purple-black haze.

"But…no!" Yuuri shook his head in denial. "Can't be."

Shinou gave Yuuri a hard look. "This glass bottle has poisoned ink in it. And, as you can see for yourself, it's not exactly a _full_ bottle, either."

Yes, it looked as though it had been used and another letter had been written. Where exactly it was, quite honestly, was anyone's guess.

"But…we're talking '_Günter'_ here! Come on." he whined.

Shinou looked thoughtfully at the bottle, making the contents slosh inside with a lazy tilt of his hand. "…Doesn't like Wolfram very much, does he? And he's always throwing himself at a particular double black that we know and…" Shinou put the bottle back in the case and returned the case to the desk. "He also has a lot of books here." Shinou pointed to the adviser's collection.

"Yes, I can see that but…" He folded his arms against his chest. This had to be some sort of set-up. He'd lived in the castle with Günter too long to distrust him now.

"He's a brilliant man and could easily concoct a poison with the right books…the right instructions."

Yuuri frowned. "Well, so could Anissina and Gissela!" he suggested, but he still trusted them implicitly.

"They're cleared," Shinou said, taking a seat behind Günter's desk and scratching his chin in thought. "I checked them out right after we had our morning baths."

"You did, _what_?" His ears had to be lying to him.

Shinou grinned defiantly and then his eyes went to the door. "…Coming…" he breathed as he grabbed Yuuri by the forearm and dragged him into the closet.

The Original King left the door open a crack and put on a serious expression as feet stepped into the room. There was the sound of a drawer opening and closing.

More footsteps.

Moving about the room.

Moving near the closet…and passing it.

Yuuri put up two fingers. Shinou nodded. There were definitely two people in the room. Still more walking and the sound of something being placed down.

Another minute passed in silence before the tramping feet sound left the room and the door locked with a dull, bolted thud. Yuuri found Shinou had taken his hand again. Lowly in his ear, the Original King said, "I think it's safe."

It was dark. The voice was Wolfram's.

Yuuri shook his head, reminding himself that he was not in a closet alone with Wolfram. He was with Shinou. Wolfram was there—in there—somewhere. But, being this close to Wolfram—to see him, hold his hand, smell the scent of sunflowers and jasmine—it felt lonely with him like this and he hated that feeling gnawing at him. Almost as though reading his thoughts, Shinou said somewhat kindly, "I'll tell you what…for tonight…" He traced a finger against Yuuri's chest—up and down—and the double black took half a step back before the words "I'll let Wolfram sleep with you" registered.

"Wha-?" Yuuri gasped out.

"What I mean is, I'll let Wolfram be with you tonight. Would you like that?" It was fun to tease the double black a little bit.

With eyes cast on the inky blackness of the floor because it was just easier for him to do that, Yuuri whispered a quiet, "please," and Shinou grinned widely. "There may be some hope for you yet," he commented as he opened the closet door and strode out.

Yuuri followed behind with a slightly sarcastic "Gee, ya think so?" but stopped in front of the desk when something caught his eye. He pointed. "There's a mug." He glanced at Shinou. "That wasn't there before. I'm sure of it."

Shinou silently agreed, staring at it.

"And, uh…" Yuuri picked up the warm earthware mug and gave it a good sniff. "That's Lasagna's special honey, vanilla, and rose chamomile tea. I'd know it anywhere." He rubbed his nose against his sleeve.

"Really?" Shinou cocked his head to the side. Tea was tea in his opinion. And, back in his day, he never really drank the stuff—preferring something harder instead.

"Yes, because I hate it…and so does Günter. He says chamomile tastes bad and associates it with a sick stomach. His father made him drink a lot of it when he was little." Yuuri put down the mug in the exact position he'd picked it up. "So, with this and the extra set of 'feet,' we know that there's someone else in the situation…right?"

Shinou looked at him from the corner of his eye. "Oh, most definitely…because…" He turned and faced Yuuri head on. "You and I heard two sets of feet." He held up two fingers to emphasize his point. "But I could only feel the soul of Lord von Christ in the room."

The double black leaned in, jaw dropped. "What? Seriously?"

Shinou nodded. "There was something soft…like velvet…moving around…strands almost…" He kept trying to focus, to bring it all together. "I want to learn more," he said with determination. "I don't want anyone else using this trick to break into Blood Pledge Castle and bring troops in with them."

"So which way do you think they went?" Now, Yuuri wanted to join in. He'd work with Shinou and find a way to help out Günter if he could. There had to be a logical explanation. There just had to be.

Shinou opened the door. "This way."

* * *

Greta tiptoed around in the rose garden the way she usually did when following the garden rabbits. "Papa Wolfram? Yuuri Daddy? Hello?" she called, searching around—curly head looking left and right. "I have a question for you from breakfast." She pushed her way past a hedge. "Are you out here playing together?" She scratched her head. "I wonder what kind of games newlyweds play?"

* * *

"UGH!" Yuuri shook his head at his blond companion. It was so frustrating. "Lost them…I can't believe it. How could this happen?" He took a few hasty, uncoordinated steps and then stopped abruptly. And not for the first time.

Shinou agreed, scanning the area carefully. "I should be able to sense Lord von Christ…being so close, but I can't. He was going in this direction and, then, he just disappeared." The Original King tried to survey the souls surrounding him—dainty pops of light but with colored, sometimes swirling, auras—distinct and individualistic, no two alike.

The double black scratched his chin. "Günter's disappeared? Just like the person he's with?"

Shinou nodded at him as they followed the garden path. Much further on, Greta was skipping and playing with her shadow. It was cute.

It gave the double black an idea. "Well, why don't we go to the kitchen and get something to drink? At least, that will give us something to do while we think this over."

This time, Yuuri was taking the lead, having a more than frustrated-looking Shinou sulk beside him.

The winding path took them through some tall shrubs before opening wide to a flat, mostly grassy area where, not too far in the distance, they could make out another path leading to the east doors of the Royal Kitchens.

"And then the next row is…?" Murata asked the master gardener, an elderly Mazoku—semi-retired—with white hair, and purple eyes with deeply wrinkled and age-spotted skin.

"Oi, Murata!" Yuuri called happily as he and Shinou approached. Seeing his friend again after the scene that he'd had with Shinou was a kind of "good-awkward." Still, if he could be cheerful enough, maybe he could gloss over any rough and unsettled feelings. Besides, he wasn't the one Murata was mad at. It was Shinou—as usual. And he still couldn't piece together that "hair comment" that the blond had made.

The pair easily side-stepped two gardeners in uniform who were repositioning a large plant with broad leaves that they'd just repotted.

The sage flashed an unreadable expression to Shinou and, then, smiled at his close friend. "Shibuya, how are things…with you and your…?" His smile flickered and then he huffed the word "husband."

Shinou stared at him evenly with a smile but said nothing while Yuuri prattled some nonsense for the sake of the master gardener who was pretending not to listen while he took in every word.

"So, what are you doing, Murata?" Yuuri finally said at last.

The sage's glasses flashed and he straightened them up on his nose with his finger. "Well, I was thinking of planting an herb garden just like this one…back at the temple."

"Oh, that's a good idea," Wolfram's voice chimed in. Too bad it was laced with sarcasm.

The sage raised an eyebrow to that.

Shinou gave an "I'm just trying to play the part of Wolfram" smirk with arms folded.

Murata gave a sliced glance in Shinou's direction and then carried on with "So, I'm getting a list of everything we're growing here." He turned back to the master gardener. "Okay, the next row is fennel, right?"

"Yes…but that's _bronze_ fennel." It was important to be specific about these things and the old man's hands on his hips emphasized his point.

"And the one after that?" Murata asked with a forced patience he really didn't have. This was taking forever and Shinou's stares were starting to unnerve him.

"Black henbane…useful herb, that…" He gave a knowing look to the Royal Consort. Being a military man, he'd be well aware of the uses.

Murata scribbled down on his notepad. "Next?"

The old Mazoku squinted his eyes and, then, he trudged into the garden with heavy steps, his high boots making a flopping sound as he stomped over and examined the nearest plant. "This here's Black Cassava." He gave a stern look to the sage. "Don't eat the roots o' this unless you're sure your servants know what they're doin'."

"Bossy old man," Shinou muttered in an undertone and got an elbow in the ribs from the sage.

"What's that for?" The blond frowned slightly.

"Shut up."

"Uh…Why is that, exactly? What's up with Black Cassava?" Yuuri asked but before he could get an answer from the gardener, the sage explained, "The roots and leaves can never be eaten raw because they contain two cyanogenic glucosides, linamarin and lotaustralin."

Okay, that just sounded like a bunch of blah, blah, blah. Yuuri scratched his head at that and tried not to appear as stupid as he felt. No wonder Murata always had high marks in science.

Murata flipped back a page on his notepad and narrowed his eyes at his notations. "It's also the toxic ingredient in Thrussian Green ink."

The double black's eyes widened. "Someone's making it here?"

"Probably."

* * *

Yuuri, buttoning up his blue pajama top, was getting ready for bed but still bothered by the same frustrations that Shinou was feeling earlier. He glanced sideways at The Original King. "I'm still having problems believing it all," he explained as he casually tossed Shinou Wolfram's pink silk nightie. Troubled as he was, Yuuri was half way curious to see if he'd actually put it on.

Shinou raised an eyebrow. "Really?" But, of course, he knew. He did. Anyone could read Yuuri like a book.

The double black squared his shoulders. "I mean, I know you feel the same way…but… The difference is that you're suggesting Günter, a close friend, had a hand in the letter writing and Wolfram's poisoning…"

Shinou eyed the pink nightie in his hands and then turned, facing now the double black. "And it may also have something to do with your assassination attempt. Don't forget that point."

With a groan, the double black smacked a hand over his face. He flopped backwards onto the bed, spread eagle.

_This day…_

He felt so drained.

Yuuri threw an arm across his face to block out the light. "I don't want to think about it right now, okay?" he shot back in a tone that was a bit harder than what he'd intended. But it just came out that way.

It was too much. Shinou. Sneaking around. What he'd had to tolerate… And then there were the things he'd done, things Shinou had literally dragged him into, which upset and embarrassed him… The garden. The poison. All of it.

The room flashed into his memory. He'd broken into Günter's place! Günter's! Worse yet, the place literally smelled like him. It wasn't as though he could forget it with the number of times the advisor had glomped onto him.

Yuuri groaned inwardly. A part of him wanted to just let the whole matter go. After all, they'd captured three of the four people involved in his assassination attempt. Wasn't that good enough?

If he was king, and the injured party, couldn't he decide to forget it all?

It would be so easy to do that.

Then again, there were the letters.

True, the author, whoever it was, had injured Wolfram with the poisoned messages. But, they knew better now—not to touch the ink—and Wolf was recovering quickly. So, it would be only a matter of time before they caught the writer. Surely, there'd be a slipup somewhere, somehow, and they'd find out who it was.

"Y-Yuuri?"

That voice. The tones. His name never sounded more beautiful. Yuuri bolted upright in bed and saw the look of a very confused Wolfram holding his pink nightie in his right hand, glancing around the bedroom—emerald green eyes shining, worried.

"Wolf?"

With a jerk, the blond looked his way.

The double black cautiously approached him, arms at his sides, trying not to add to the fears by rushing in.

The gown hung down loosely. Wolfram's eyes passed him and continued to sweep the room. His mouth was open slightly, breathing harder than usual.

"Wolf?"

"I…um…whoa…" It was as though he suddenly realized Yuuri was standing before him and he almost flinched.

"One…one minute I was sleeping next to you…_with you_…" His voice trailed off as his mind worked to piece together what little it could. With a slight tremble, the blond ran his fingers through his hair. "I was falling asleep and, suddenly, I'm standing way over here…wide awake, not even dressed for bed."

Emerald eyes sought out the gap between the curtains. It was night but it wasn't as late as it was when he had gone to bed just a few minutes ago. _But it couldn't be minutes ago._ There was a flicker of concern as Wolfram steadied himself and asked, "How long?"

Yuuri gave a reassuring smile followed by wrapping his arms securely around Wolfram's shoulders. "Last night…that was last night…" He closed his eyes in feline fashion, smiling both inwardly and outwardly.

"I see…" Weakly, Wolfram rested his arms around Yuuri's waist, but the touch was feather-light and only with his fingertips. "So, I lost a day, huh?" he said quietly—so quietly, in fact, that Yuuri leaned back to stare at him with hands on his shoulders.

"Wolf? Are you okay?" Yuuri asked, unsure. He placed a firm palm against his forehead and felt for a temperature.

Wolfram allowed the touch, feeling fatigued. "I feel fine…more or less. I just…"

"Feel disconnected?" Yuuri ventured to say and saw the nod. "It's okay," he soothed as he took Wolfram back into his arms with a gentle rocking motion, "because it won't last forever."

The blond sighed to himself. The gown was still hanging loosely in his right hand, swaying like a flag at half mast. "Forever isn't real, Yuuri."

That sounded defeated and it was not like the Wolfram that he knew. Yuuri held him tighter, now remembering Shinou's comment that Wolfram had asked for death—"death" as some sort of reward. It seemed like lunacy.

_But what can I do?_

Some part of his soul felt that Shinou had spoken the truth. Wolfram had asked to die. But there had to be a logical reason behind it—a reason, he was sure, that Wolfram would never divulge unless he had no other option.

"'Forever,' Wolf, is what we decide it is." Boy, that sounded lame and hearing Wolfram snort at it was proof that he'd just made a total and complete prat of himself.

Still, the slightly shorter male did not let go of him. Instead, Wolfram rested his head on his shoulder. Golden locks rubbed into the fabric even though it seemed the gesture was saying, "No way… He's such an idiot."

_Try again._

_I have to._

_Just say the words._

_Please let them come to me._

Yes, he could do this because he knew Wolfram and he knew how they were together. He would not be rejected. _Please listen…_ The double black pressed his face into the curve of Wolfram's neck and urged him to believe. "We'll get through this… We will live," he told him.

The gesture was intimate, more so than they'd ever been in the past. But it was more than that. Yuuri could tell that Wolfram had stopped breathing at the words. He held his breath for a few beats, debating, which was Yuuri's guess.

"How can you say that?" the blond whispered back bitterly. It was as though something precious was being taken away from him. Yuuri expected that tone if he'd done something wrong—messed up in his distinctively colossal but truly oblivious way.

He had to convince him.

A way. There had to be a way to save this life.

An important and irreplaceable life.

He had mistreated it, he knew. Taken it for granted. Denied it—even when he could see the pain he was causing. Yes, he saw and he knew—and did nothing. The dreams had told him what he'd done wrong—even the vague ones that were little more than a string of emotions. But somewhere, deep down, he understood that he shared them with Wolfram.

_My Wolfram._

Yuuri leaned back slightly and placed a hand against Wolfram's cheek, changing the angle of his face and forcing the blond to look him in the eye.

"I can say that because…" and he drew near. "I am the King of Shin Makoku." Yuuri's hands slid down Wolfram's arms. The silky touch moving, meeting hands, tossing the gown to the ground, and smoothly lacing fingers. Yuuri lifted his chin and pressed a firm kiss onto Wolfram's cheek, making him take a soft gasp in surprise. "And because," he whispered sincerely, "you are my consort."

With regret, the ex-prince turned his face away. "You'll change your mind tomorrow…with the sun," Wolfram countered, wanting to believe but knowing better. He'd been through this before—false hope—and had learned from it. "Reconsider…"

"No."

Wolfram sighed, putting a hand to his aching head as he reached down for the gown at his feet. "Let's just get some sleep, Yuuri." He took Yuuri by the hand and tugged him in the direction of the bed.

That night, Wolfram slept restlessly in Yuuri's arms, mumbling "no more" and "stop." The double black stayed up most of the night watching over him, calming him when need be with a gentle stroke to the cheek or a soft hug.

He'd taken the first step, he knew, by calling Wolfram what he truly was—"consort." But more would be needed before Wolfram would come around.

Together.

They would make this journey together.

As one. Because life would be too harsh alone.

"Believe in me, Wolfram…"

By dawn the next morning, the blond was awake and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes with the heel of his hand. Yuuri had let him go and shifted away—realizing that Shinou had, once again, returned.

"Good morning," Shinou practically yawned with a lazy stretch. This was going to be another long day. So, they might as well get up early and get as much done as possible. Maybe, he'd have Yuuri check in with Murata. Shinou would have done it himself but he wasn't sure if the Sage had been given enough time to cool down. He was still prickly yesterday.

"I want you to show me," Yuuri stated with finality. He wasn't going to back down to his bedmate. In fact, he'd been practicing this in his head all night long.

The blond tilted his head to the side and smiled coyly. "Show you?" Shinou chuckled in a blatantly sexy way. "So early in the morning…and you want to play 'Show and Tell'?" He struck a pose that, had it been Wolfram, Yuuri knew he would have found strangely irresistible. But this was Shinou and he felt repulsed.

Yuuri gritted his teeth. "Yes, that's exactly what I want." Then, he grabbed the edge of the silk sheet, pulling it away harshly. "And, quit giving me the 'come hither look' from behind the sheet."

Shinou's blue and green eyes widened slightly at that and got progressively wider still when the double black demanded, "I want you to _show me_… what you showed Wolfram." He leaned in with his right hand making a tight fist.

"I want you to show me Wolfram's death."


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

.

.

It was early in the morning, but Greta wasn't tired at all. No yawns, even. In fact, she'd been waiting for this time—when all was humming along in the castle and she could do what she wanted without adults watching over her because they were busy with chores.

The dim morning light was of no help and she wanted to see it better after keeping it in her jewelry box all night long.

The little princess lit another candle and carried it with her.

In her bedroom, Greta sat at her desk and stared at the strange treasure she'd discovered while playing with her shadow yesterday. What had started out as just a chance to twirl in her new dress, and to watch her shadow mimic the steps, had turned into an interesting find. Well, there was that and the attention-grabbing question Lady Cheri had told her to ask. She still intended to ask it, too.

The unique treasure had fallen to the grass between the stone path and clumps of dirt. It looked very much like one of the yarn friendship bracelets Yuuri had brought her from Earth. The band was braided and it seemed to be made of a stiff material coated in a somewhat rigid, almost waxy substance that she couldn't identify. There was a bloodstone jewel sewn into the end. The rounded stone was set into a charm which captivated her: deep green with flecks of bloody red clutched into a charm setting which looked like a hand.

_Too bad that the bracelet's broken_.

The tiny silver hook was still there but the loop that it went into was missing. The owner probably had no idea it was gone until it was too late.

Still, the bracelet was attractive—in an odd sort of way—and, if she pulled out her sewing box, she was certain that she could find thread of a similar color.

_I could sew it back into a circle and squeeze my hand through._

It would be fun to wear this. And, should the owner approach her and want it back, she'd gladly do so. (Of course, she could probably make something similar to this with a stone gem more to her liking—a nice emerald, perhaps, to remind her of Papa Wolfram.

And, with that, she set off to work.

* * *

"Are you sure you want to see this?" Shinou asked in annoyed tone. It was too early in the day to deal with Yuuri's whims when his own whims took priority. "I had other plans for this morning."

Yuuri frowned at him. "Such as…?"

Shinou tried to appear modest, but it didn't turn out so when he said, "Lady Cheri's suite." He turned a little more to face the double black. "You know, in this possessed body, I should have no trouble…"

"Lady Cheri?" Yuuri almost choked on his saliva. "W-What makes you want to search her rooms? Do you suspect her, too, along with Günter?"

The blond scratched the back of his head dully. "It's more like her sweet 'Little Dom Dom' who frequents her chambers at all hours."

Yuuri settled back in the bed with a soft "Oh." He didn't know much about the blue haired man who had so recently captured the ex-maou's interests. But, it might make sense to get to know him better.

He glanced at Shinou and thought, _But all of this sneaking around is really starting to get to me. I just can't shake this nervousness._

"So, shall we get started?" Shinou asked boyishly, pushing the covers away from his bare legs. He twisted to get out of bed but felt a hand gripping his wrist.

"Not so fast," Yuuri said, leaning in his direction with a resolute look. "I still want to see the dream…or the vision…that you showed Wolfram about his death."

Shinou fell back into the bed. His head flopped onto the pillow lazily. "Why?"

Yuuri released his wrist. "Because I want to know…and, in another way, I don't." He crossed his arms defensively. "But, I can't live with not knowing…not seeing what you showed him. And I have a very strong feeling that it has something to do with me." When the double black saw the flicker of a smile, he knew for certain that he was right.

"Show me," Yuuri demanded.

"Hmm?" Shinou hummed back in a disinterested way.

"I said, 'Show me'." Yuuri repeated his words as he leaned in closer.

Shinou rolled over onto his side with his back to Yuuri. He huffed a laugh. Like the wimp could really make him do it.

A hand grabbed his shoulder, shoved him back on the bed, and a face leaned in. The double black's face was set and determined—black eyes narrowed into snake-like slits. "Show me!" The voice was deeper and the once lithe body on the bed was growing into the unmistakable form of The Maou. "Do not mistake _an order_ for a _request_." The blue haze that covered him blew back the sheets.

Shinou sighed openly, making hand gestures of appeasement. This was really not worth fighting over and he had plans. Big plans. This was really going to push the timetable, though and if everything happened at once...? Still…

"As you wish." He reached a hand out to take The Maou's. "I will let you see."

* * *

White bled to black.

The scent of stagnant water assaulted Yuuri's nose. It was like being in a city zoo during summer. Even though it was an illusion—a very vivid one, in fact—he couldn't help but hold his nose.

"It reeks."

"So it does," Shinou loftily agreed, tossing his ornate cape over one shoulder. It felt so good to be back in his original form again. He'd missed it.

"Yuuri, no!" Wolfram shouted, running across the scuffed-up grey stone floor towards a wide, dank chamber used for sorting and processing prisoners en masse.

Both Shinou and Yuuri turned abruptly in the direction of the young fire wielder. "Wolfram!" the double black shouted, hands cupped to his face.

"It's no use. He can't hear you and won't react."

The young king shook his head, feeling more than foolish. Of course Wolfram couldn't hear him. This was just an illusion—the very illusion that he forced Shinou to show him. Worse yet, he knew full well how it would end and his heart wrenched.

Was he brave enough to face it?

The arched hallway Wolfram was running through widened into a massive chamber with chain links dangling from walls. Water was dripping in from the ceiling and there were roaches and long-legged spiders clinging to the mildew-covered walls. Puddles of greenish sludge held fast to Wolfram's boots.

He scanned left and right for the enemy before making the final decision—which way to go about this.

Shinou and Yuuri followed the young fire wielder at a run.

The sound of Wolfram's desperate, heavy breathing echoed back at Shinou and Yuuri.

The young blond's steps slowed for a minute. Wolfram could feel his body aching in this dampness but continued on. Even in profile, his features were set, unwavering.

"We've almost caught up to him," Yuuri huffed and, then, he stopped dead in his tracks when he heard his own voice coming from another direction.

"Wolf?"

It was a weak, miserable voice but laced with hope, too.

"Wolf, is that…?"

"This way is faster," Shinou said to his companion with a jerk of his head in the appropriate direction.

The Original King opened a heavy iron door and the two of them passed through into a wide chamber.

Yuuri could see himself half slumped against the right wall—arms stretched over his head—wearing thick metal bracelet shackles that were each chained to part of the wall.

The double black forced his head to turn as something moved in the shadows. "Wolf…wait…"

Running.

Splashing in muck.

Pulling free of the darkness, three hulking, armed men—hair dark brown and matching rough-cut leather jerkin vests—unsheathed their swords almost as one as they rushed towards the double black from a side entrance.

The present day Yuuri forced himself to watch, arms hugging himself. Shinou saw this and explained hastily, "They would prefer to kill their prize…which is you…rather than part with it. Until now, you were worth more alive than dead…for ransom."

Wolfram's face took on a terrified expression. As a soldier, he could read the enemy and could make out their intentions at once.

This, he knew, would be Yuuri's death day.

"No! It won't happen!" his voice hissed. "Yuuri! I'm coming!" Wolfram unsheathed his sword in a fluid motion, the sound of sharpened steel sliding out in a single, ringing tone.

As Yuuri would wish, Wolfram took out the first man easily enough with a hard, sharp kick—knocking a kneecap out of place. With a roar of pain, the soldier's leg collapsed and he fell into a heap as Wolfram attacked the middle swordsman with shining blade raised—a diagonal slice to the chest and throat.

Shinou smirked as he heard Yuuri next to him. "I can't believe he did it, and still made it out of this scrape."

"Really?" the ancient spirit asked and the double black turned to him in a flash.

"What do you mean?"

Shinou placed his hands on his hips, disappointed that his companion was so thick. "Can't you tell? Look again."

Wolfram's breathing was loud. The sound was in his ears and each breath rattled him.

"He's fighting in a way you'd approve of—with as little blood spilled as possible. But, at the same time, he knows that this is not viable."

Black eyes turned back to the fight.

It was the third that would be the problem. With the tip end of his sword, the blond stabbed and pushed the second soldier's body into the last man. They fell. And the blond finished him off, stabbing through the chest, directly in front of Yuuri's terrified eyes.

Shinou sliced a look at Yuuri and saw the same expression mirrored on his face. "He had to choose between your life and your respect for him." The blond folded his arms and went on with, "Had my descendant lived, you would never have seen him the same way again…not after watching him viciously kill an opponent practically in front of your face."

"You don't know that for sure," Yuuri countered softly, but he sounded so unsure of himself that it was embarrassing. These were the same movements that Wolfram only "gestured towards" in training drills. However, this time, it was real.

_Very, very real._

Wolfram, covered in sprays of blood not his own, turned to the double black chained to the wall. He could feel Yuuri's anger, disapproval, disappointment, misery, sorrow… But there was no time for the kind of mercy the double black believed in. There just wasn't.

And, they were still in danger.

"Time is no longer a friend to you. The longer the two of you stay in this place, the less likely you will get out," Shinou added, knowing from his past life as a soldier that this was so.

Wolfram turned to Yuuri, sword blood-spattered.

"Wolfram!" Onyx eyes widened as the blond charged at him. For a second, Yuuri looked as though the ex-prince would murder him. He cringed and cowered weakly as Wolfram's bloodied blade struck metal.

"You say you trust him…you _care_ for him… But you certainly turn on him easily enough when blood is spilled," Shinou said tartly with a finger gesture in Wolfram's direction. And Yuuri could feel his blood boil at that.

"I'll get you out of here!"

Another strike. Nothing.

He would wreck his treasured sword, making it useless forever, for his husband's sake. He would gladly give up that and more to keep him safe.

The chains held fast. No matter. He'd have to melt them and have Yuuri leave the foreign castle wearing the cuffs as temporary bracelets.

Roughly, the blond grabbed the nearest chain. He held it within his palm, fire burning, until the metal was red and, then, white hot.

A deep clunk.

The first. "That took forever," the blond grumbled. And, now, the second.

Wolfram smiled thinly as he, finally, broke the left wrist free from the wall. The blond took his king by the forearm—pushing him roughly in the direction of the door where a very much relieved Conrad now stood.

"Good job, Wolfram!"

"I didn't know that Conrad was in his dream-vision, too," Yuuri said to Shinou.

"Yes, he's here."

Desperately, Yuuri reached a hand out for Conrad. And, standing next to Shinou, the young demon king fidgeted uncomfortably. Seeing it like this, from this perspective, he could well understand the fire wielder's years of jealousy. In this moment, it could be easily mistaken that Shibuya Yuuri loved Conrad.

Well, he did. But not in the way that Wolfram always accused him of.

Now freed, Yuuri turned back to Wolfram to make sure he was still there, eyes glad and half lidded with a smile.

That was the way they were together.

Those two.

Always.

That bond.

Watching the display of affection in front of him, Wolfram was obviously hurt. But, he forced a small smile on his face anyway. If Conrad could give Yuuri an ounce of comfort in this mess, Wolfram believed that it would be worth it. His pride be damned.

But Yuuri's eyes trailed past Wolfram's shoulder.

"Wolf…"

A sword's glint.

"Yuuri, no!"

Wolfram could make out the flash of a blade—one from the first soldier. Injuring the man's leg simply wasn't enough to keep him down long enough for an escape.

The blond slid sideways and held Yuuri against his chest—one arm around his neck and one around his waist—roughly holding him one last time.

With force, Wolfram's body lurched forward with the sudden thrust to his back. Blood splattered from his mouth as, from behind, Conrad's blade assailed the intruder with savage thrusts.

What was left of the soldier's body and sword fell to the stone floor.

Yuuri stood there, shocked, his cheek sprayed in a splatter of fresh blood as Wolfram's body slumped against him. Weakening with every struggled breath.

"Be a good king…Yuuri," Wolfram whispered with a liquid-gargled breath.

The pain was nothing. He could barely feel it. Numb.

"Wolfram, no!" Yuuri said.

The present day Yuuri sobbed with a hand over his mouth. "No!" He could see it for himself. Wolfram was dying in front of him, covered in crimson and gore.

They both crumbled to the floor together—kneeling. Wolfram's arm sagged around Yuuri's neck and then, finally, it slipped off.

He held Wolfram to him, not daring to let go.

"…Worth it…"

His teeth were stained red.

"No..." Yuuri turned to Conrad. "Help me!"

He handed Wolfram over to Conrad's waiting arms. Exhausted as he was, Yuuri began to tear the clothes from Wolfram's body, determined to heal him if he could. But, there was so much blood. And the overpowering stench made Yuuri sick.

"This is a wasted effort," Shinou observed. "My descendant has willingly, and rightly, traded his life for yours. This choice cannot be undone."

Yuuri narrowed his eyes at him, fists clinched. "Lives can't be bought, sold, or traded. Don't talk about him like that."

Shinou tilted his head to the side, regarding the double black. "Don't mistake this moment of honor as throwing his life away. A sacrifice is a sacrifice because it is not easy to make. Something cherished is gone and pain is usually involved."

Wolfram's weary head turned. "…I'll wait for you…on the other side of the river…"

Yuuri grabbed Wolfram's hand. He squeezed it. "Wolfram!"

"Sorry…can't…"

The world faded to white once more and the scene changed. Yuuri, perplexed, was still standing next to Shinou but everything was different. They were outside in the fresh air. They were standing almost knee deep in a garden of green grasses dotted with small, purple flowers. And, now that he took notice, there was a large tree as well.

"Wolfram!" Yuuri called. "Wolf!"

"He made it after all?" Yuuri asked incredulously, turning to Shinou. The Original King only smirked back at him.

"Wolf!"

The double black scratched his head as he scanned the grassy garden. "Where can he be?"

From around the large apple tree, a little boy with black hair, black eyes, and Asian features ran towards him with arms waving. "Daddy!"

"_Daddy_?" Yuuri parroted to Shinou who almost laughed at him.

"Did you have fun with your sister?" the double black asked with a chuckle in his voice, pointing to the woman in her late 20's who was busy gathering up the remains of their picnic.

"Wait! Is that _Greta_?" Yuuri choked out as he approached his very mature daughter, who had grown up very "curvy" indeed. "Ample" would have best described her.

Greta smiled at her husband, Murata Ken, who was bouncing their eight month old baby boy on his thigh.

"Whoa!" Yuuri groaned as though struck with something. Against his better judgment, he leaned in to see the couple better. "M-Murata…and _Greta_? They had matching wedding rings in pure silver. "And a _baby_?" He squeaked the last word. "But…But…" He gaped like a goldfish.

"Well, I wasn't too thrilled about that outcome, either," Shinou said sourly as he flashed a disgusted look at Murata Ken. "But, he got her pregnant…so…"

"Eh??" Yuuri turned to Shinou with a look of total revulsion on his face.

"They wanted to keep their relationship secret from you…fearing you'd disapprove with the age difference and all that. And you were so possessive of Greta after Wolfram's death. Always questioning yourself…always visiting his grave almost daily…even after you married."

"Yeah, it was fun." Little Wolf-chan smiled like sunshine, sitting on the grass to his father's right. The double black took a seat next to him.

Yuuri ruffled the boy's unmanageable locks.

"Tell the story again, father!" Wolf-chan asked, his eyes glowing.

He sighed with a crooked grin. "Again?"

"Yeah!" Black, messy hair shook "yes" in a wave.

"Well…" He eyed the boy, pretending to see if he deserved the story or not. Wolf-chan looked up with wobbly eyes. Surely, he'd say it. His Daddy would say the words.

"It all started when I got flushed down a toilet and ended in this place…"

"Shin Makoku!" The child said enthusiastically, like a cheer at a baseball game.

"…And got accidentally engaged…"

A wide grin full of baby teeth. "And I'm named after him!"

The double black looked to Shinou and said wryly, "I'm sure his mother loved that suggestion. Naming a baby after his father's dead husband."

"I think Gwendal von Voltaire took it pretty hard, too," Shinou admitted, "considering he still blames you for his brother's death. He saw the naming as a sort of atonement. But, it still hurt him to call another child 'Wolfram' so soon."

The wind blew and made a shushing sound through the tree branches.

"Yes, yes…" Yuuri chuckled. "Started to…"

"Scream 'cheater' at you and then played toss with fireballs!"

"R-Right…" Yuuri wasn't sure if "played toss" was the correct wording for it, though.

"And he set your pants on fire one time!"

"Ummm…true…"

"Oh and there's the time that he…"

"Hey, who's telling this story…me or you?"

An impish face tilted up curiously. "Do you think he would have liked me?"

At first, Yuuri could make out a black outline. It began to fill in with colors: white, creams, peaches, and gold.

"Gold?" the double black said and Shinou smirked at him again.

Suddenly, Yuuri recognized the face. A blond angel sitting behind the child wrapped his invisible wings around him. The spirit laughed with a soundless voice and glanced sideways, lovingly at the double black king.

His sacrifice.

He would be a companion in death to the one he loved so much in life.

Everything changed.

Everything stayed the same.

Always there but never touching.

"_N-o_," Yuuri growled darkly, approaching the scene. "I won't allow this."

"Oh?" Shinou responded, pretending to admire the angel before him but his focus was entirely upon the double black.

Yuuri ran one hand through his black hair, nervous and angry at once. "The promise is that Wolfram will die and become an angel…" He turned to the Original King. "My guardian angel and that of…" He gestured to the child but couldn't do more than that.

He paced around the alternate version of himself and glared into the face. "This…This isn't me." Turning his head, he locked eyes with Shinou for a moment. "This can't be me!" Yuuri took a half step. Frustrated. He turned his gaze back and scowled into the face, into himself. Yuuri explained roughly, "If Wolfram had died in my arms, I would never have eyes like this again. They would be sad, impossibly sad. It's the kind of feeling that you just can't let go of…no matter how long you live. I remember when my grandfather died and my mother's eyes were never the same as before. She smiled, yes. But it wasn't the same smile…not the same…not the same way." Yuuri backed up, hands balled into fists. "I'm sorry but…this whole vision is a lie. Nothing is right. And I won't allow it to happen and I won't allow you to give this future to Wolfram."

Yuuri gave a determined look, standing up to him.

"But if this is what he wants…?" Shinou suggested seriously.

"I'll do whatever it takes, but this false reality will never happen." Yuuri could feel himself shake and his breathing change as though he were jogging.

"How can you be so sure? Time is fluid and living beings have free will." Ah, he had Yuuri there. Even after thousands of years of practice, it was still a trick for him to tilt events into his favor.

Yuuri pulled himself up to his full height. "I'm sure because…if I see this happening…if I see there is no other option…" Yuuri cringed at the thought but knew what his heart was telling him. "I'll forfeit my life, too. I'll join him in death and Wolfram will never know loneliness again." Black eyes filled with tears. "He will not be an angel that no one can see or touch. He'll have me."

Shinou's jaw dropped. "Have you any idea what you're saying? You are putting yourself ahead of Shin Makoku…with no heir." The blond Original King seemed to grow in size, clouds gathered, and the wind whipped at them as the figures in the garden disappeared one by one until they were alone—just Yuuri and Shinou.

This was a foolish thing Yuuri was planning. "You cannot be selfish. You cannot end your life on a certain day simply because you say so."

"Why not? You did."


	15. Chapter 15

**Author's Note**:

First, I'd like to apologize to everyone who started reading "Wedding's End" and noticed that I had not updated in quite a long while. The truth is, around chapter 12, I started getting feedback emailed to my Yahoo email account saying that the story was tedious and I should just move on to something more interesting. I thought, "Okay, point taken" and started writing another fic. But, I really like finishing what I start. So, I will continue with this story. And to those who found it boring the first time, I sympathize. I do. But I really want to work toward a conclusion on this.

See ya~

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* * *

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Chapter 15

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Anissina swept back a piece of limp hair as she examined the clipboard containing the results from one of her older inventions—"Swift-As-Ever-Antidote-Kun" which had an odd resemblance to a cast iron, crank-turned corn shucker somehow mated with a 1980's toaster oven. It had originally been designed to aid healers in making antidotes to poisons. Never had she used it to simply analyze a poison's components alone. The invention did that automatically and simply popped out a stiff, rectangular card with a list of ingredients that could be used to cure the patient in the shortest amount of time.

Quite a handy invention. Too bad it produced an acrid smell and had a tendency to send out nasty shocks to anyone who bothered to turn the crank.

She put the clipboard down on her desk for a moment. "All of the confiscated silver daggers," she explained while removing her leather work gloves, "were laced with the same kind of poison."

Murata Ken nodded to her. That was what he thought.

"And the poison ink letters that you brought to me were, I believe, written in the same ink with the same hand…a single writer."

The sage raised an eyebrow at that and she looked back evenly. "Penmanship was always a gift of mine. Back when I did some tutoring, I could always tell when someone else wrote my student's essays." A cruel smile came to her face at that. "Oh, and the punishments that I could come up with for such an offense…"

"Anything else?" Murata urged, swallowing thickly at the thought of the kind of punishments Anissina could dream up when she really tried.

"Hmm?" she said, distracted for a moment. "Oh…yes…" She studied the results again, squinting down at the clipboard. "Your guess was correct. Both poisons share some of the same basics. Specifically: algae, bitter almond extract, alcohol, and Black Cassava root."

Murata took off his glasses, polishing the lenses with the edge of his shirt. "Homemade cyanide, huh? Crude but effective." He held his glasses up to the light and looked for spots. "And, it is true… I'm not surprised by any of it. As I've said before, 'Cooks' have a tendency to use the same spices over and over again. Over time, it just becomes habit. It also acts as a kind of signature…when you look at it from a certain viewpoint."

"Do you have an idea about the fourth culprit?" Anissina asked, placing the clipboard down dully but, in fact, her curiosity had been piqued long ago. "Someone in the royal kitchens, perhaps? …If you are using the 'cook' analogy, I mean?"

"It seems unlikely," he returned, settling his glasses on his face again. "We haven't hired anyone new lately and the whole area is much too public. People going in and out at all hours. Also, the kitchen staff happens to be the busiest gossips around. They would gladly tell tales on each other if it pleased them."

"True," Anissina chuckled.

"What I do know is that this person has both the skill and the determination to set up situations. But, so far, things have been bungled. So, I wonder how long he or she will wait in the shadows before trying something new."

"Something new…?" With a sigh, Anissina crossed her arms over her chest and agreed, "That is also true."

* * *

Yuuri didn't know how Shinou had managed it, but they were now fully dressed and walking down the hallway in chummy fashion—"Wolfram's" arm slung over his shoulders casually. They were heading toward Lady Cheri's suite of rooms with every intention, on Shinou's part, of searching dear "Dom Dom's" things while, at the same time, avoiding Günter and his enthusiastic but frightfully uninteresting friend, Claus.

While getting dressed, Yuuri had received a message from Conrad saying he could not go jogging and would probably not be at breakfast, either. For, he and Gwendal were going to be in an early morning meeting with The Great Sage—a meeting Yuuri definitely wanted to attend. But, Shinou had other ideas and all too easily swept him off in the direction they were heading now.

_As much as I hate to admit it_, Yuuri decided with a glower,_ looking back on things…sometimes,_ _Wolfram was absolutely right about me_. _I guess,_ _I can be a wimp_. In his mind, Yuuri envisioned all of those times Wolfram uttered the word "wimp." And, apparently, the feisty blond had a variety of tonal qualities when he said it. In fact, that one word was practically a language all its own.

With that, he could feel the frustration grow. It was annoying. Not to mention, the double black had to stop himself from stomping his feet like a small child. That was the kind of thing that his older brother, Shori, always noted and made fun of—the kind of behavior little "Yuu-chan" had when he wasn't getting his way.

_But…!_

Something… Something seemed profoundly unfair. He was probably missing out on a meeting of importance and only long after the fact would he be filled in. Again. It wasn't as though he distrusted Gwendal, Conrad, or Murata. In fact, it was just the opposite. He relied on them and their opinions. But, being kept in the dark was getting tiresome and Yuuri wanted more say in what went on. Just look at the mess he was in now because of a wedding he didn't even understand and a husband, now, who was only by his side part of the time. Both of them were miserable, he was sure, and only Shinou seemed to be enthralled with what he was doing.

"This way," Shinou said in Wolfram's voice.

"I know. I know," Yuuri grumped back, frustrated.

Shinou gritted his teeth into a hard grin. "Then smile a little when you talk to me or you'll attract unwanted attention." Green eyes followed a very buxom young Mazoku with a wicker laundry basket piled awkwardly with white towels, all pushed up against her and making an open gap in her button-down cotton blouse. _My, she is a big girl_, he thought with a warm glow inside as she passed with a polite nod of the head. Lilac spiral curls bobbed when she did.

Shinou shifted his eyes left and right to see if anyone else was within viewing distance. "Good."

There was a not too gentle squeeze around the double black's shoulders next and the young king almost tripped and fell. Yuuri looked into Shinou's face briefly and faked a smile—a totally unbelievable smile, aggravation around the edges.

A dramatic sigh. "You know, Yuuri Heika… You are a very bad actor. Now Wolfram, on the other hand, is quite excellent at it. 'Skilled,' you might say."

At that, Yuuri's raven eyes turned to the floor, finding it very interesting for the moment. "I don't want to discuss Wolfram with you." His face hardened. "I just…want _him_ back. I want everything back…and happy…the way things used to be."

Shinou gripped his shoulder and directed Yuuri off to the left, down another drafty hallway. In his ear, the blond said, "Things were never as happy as you thought they were. When will you get that into your head?" Shinou chuckled with derision. "Hearts and flowers? A perfect world…for everybody in your life? No. And for my descendant in particular? Quite honestly…I just never stepped in because _his_ pain was not a priority. Shin Makoku was and still is my priority." A hard smirk. "Learn the difference."

Yuuri shook his head at that but continued on—letting Shinou guide him in an uncomfortable silence between the two of them.

"Do you want the truth?" Shinou went on in Wolfram's voice, sounding even but there was a touch of annoyance to it. Without waiting for an answer, "The truth is, Wolfram's role in this world was to become a key…his heart, specifically, to become a key to a magic box. One that we now have safe and sound in my temple." They continued down the hallway. "And for a key to work properly, it has to be cut a certain way…"

"And your point?" Yuuri prodded, half mad and half curious.

"Simpleton." Shinou rolled his eyes. This was clear as day. "He had to love his king more than his own life, to be willing to sacrifice everything…if it came to it, and to be willing to stay by his side until the time was right to pluck the key." Shinou continued to steer Yuuri along the hallway. "So, in a sense, his task…his _purpose_ is complete now that we have all of the boxes in a safe location and what happens next with 'dear Wolfram' has nothing to do with me."

The double black's fist tightened. "It has nothing to do with me… It cannot be helped…" Yuuri's ebony eyes flicked into black slits for a second before he took a deep breath to control his temper. "Back in Japan, do you know how many times I've heard those words…and hated them? It's like giving up or giving in. And I hate both ideas."

A chuckle. "Oh…Our Majesty is a little bit feisty today, hmmm?" The Original King countered just as a group of twenty or so people passed them in the hallway. One, Yuuri could tell, was Anissina in a very dark mood carrying the scent of burnt…burnt _something _about her… The smell of failure, he guessed. But the others were just a blur—all bowing and speaking at once in muddied echoes. All Yuuri could do was wave back meekly and hope that no one was going to ask why they were in this section of the castle when the dining hall was in the opposite direction at the far end.

Trampling footsteps echoed along.

Shinou turned abruptly, watching their backs. His eyes were wide and his blond head slowly tilted to the side, graced by the candlelight from the sconces.

"Well, who's the one who'd draw attention now?" Yuuri asked, a hand on his hip.

Shinou raised an eyebrow at him.

"Your eyes," Yuuri went on, pointing at him. "They don't exactly match."

"Oh?" The blond gave a slow blink and made emerald eyes twins again. But he was still standing there as though trying to puzzle something out. He scratched his chin in thought. "Well, that was certainly interesting."

"What was?"

"Velvet strands…that strange feeling from before," Shinou explained. "It was like…in that group of people there was an aura missing. But I could only sense it from being this close. Otherwise, it was totally undetectable."

Yuuri nodded, getting it now. "Just like before, huh? In Günter's room…? So, do we search for Dom's things or do we go after that crowd?" He thumbed in the direction the group had gone. A decision would have to be made. They were disappearing quickly.

"What else?" Shinou said, linking arms with Yuuri with a self-satisfied grin. "We go have breakfast after all…and follow the crowd along the way." The blond stepped lively and, as they passed a guard, he prattled on about suddenly being "_starved_" for his appetite had certainly been "_worked up_."

There was an innuendo there Yuuri chose to ignore.

The nearest guard blushed.

The double black glanced at Shinou and back again. Some part of him was still mad about the things The Original King had said about Wolfram. Very little of it was true in his opinion. Wolfram von Bielefeld—heart, body, soul—was not a key, a _thing_. He was a person, a beautiful person. Important. Irreplaceable. Maddening at times, yes… Yuuri's heart told him so, as confusing and contradictory as that knowledge could be. But Yuuri would address everything later as well as the feelings of isolation which shadowed him—to be, even now, this close to "Wolfram" and not be able to talk to him, to feel that strength—that rush he always did from the passion the fire wielder had.

Shinou in Wolfram's skin was a poor substitute. Even the smile was wrong. He knew that smile—that real smile—and missed it.

The double black looked at the shrinking crowd.

Right now, the two of them had something to go on. Now, it seemed, they were getting somewhere. Shinou was not the ideal partner. But, at least, he was willing to work with him. No semi-secret meetings.

Yuuri squared his shoulders as he walked. "Okay, let's catch up."

"I knew you'd see things my way."

And off they went.

* * *

He needed to stretch his legs. That meeting was a long one. Pulling back the dark green silk curtain, Conrad looked out the window of Gwendal's office only to notice Dom and Claus having a quiet talk next to one of the flower beds. The second son smiled slightly when he noticed Dom trying to discretely hide a yawn behind his hand while pointing with his other hand to a blue flower. Claus removed his reading glasses from his pocket and perched them on his nose for a closer inspection of the blossom while the gardeners timidly made their exits, hoping not to be noticed.

Murata approached the window, too, and peered down. "Quite a pair, huh?"

"Definitely," Conrad agreed, folding his arms against his chest and leaning against the window frame nonchalantly. "Too bad Gwendal had to attend to something. He'd enjoy seeing Dom bored to this extent."

"Well, a little bit of boredom right now is preferable to the antics which have been going on lately," Murata said. "And since our prisoners in the dungeon have been of very little help in terms of the details of the assassination attempt, we will just have to keep our eyes open."

Conrad agreed with a nod. "Not to mention one of the prisoners, Lady Agnes, seems to have been having mental problems…saying that Shinou suddenly appeared before her and strung her up by her bra…"

Murata coughed nervously into his fist. "Ah, the tales people tell once they are under arrest."

Conrad hummed an agreement. "Yes. Quite." He reached into his pocket and took out a gold pocket watch that he had purchased while on Earth many years ago. He flicked the timepiece open and noted the time. "It seems that breakfast has just started. Shall we go have a bite?"

"It sounds good." Murata gave Claus and Dom one last glance as he turned away from the window. "And it will be fun to see what everyone is up to."

Conrad's smile strained a little at that. "Fun" wasn't the word he often associated with his family at mealtimes. His memory flashed to the beginning—that historic moment when Yuuri met Wolfram, Wolfram opened his mouth to insult Yuuri's "human" mother, and got a good, hard slap on the cheek in the process. The start to an engagement. An unhappy one for the most part.

Yes, "fun" wasn't the word. Something akin to "discord" would have been more appropriate.

Conrad sighed and opened the door for the sage.

This might be a very long day. He just had a feeling.

A nagging feeling.

* * *

"Are you sure?"

"This way. I'm certain," Shinou mumbled under his breath as the doors were opened for them. "And, by the way, don't question me."

Black eyebrows narrowed at him.

Stepping inside, Yuuri and Shinou found themselves a few minutes late for breakfast, scanned the room awkwardly, and then took their usual places with the eyes of the whole room upon them. It didn't help matters, in Yuuri's opinion, that at the last second Shinou grabbed his hand in a flirty fashion. Fingers laced easily with his.

And he actually went along with it.

_I am such a wimp!_

The serving staff giggled behind their hands and then quickly stole away behind swinging doors. They would get to see more soon. After all, it was time to bring in more pitchers of milk and juice.

"I thought you were going to miss breakfast, Wolfie," Lady Cheri said with a knowing wink. "Whatever could have kept you?" She took a delicate bite of strawberry from the plate she was sharing with Dom Dom.

Ah, the implication.

"Yes," Greta said, stabbing a sausage with her fork in exactly the kind of way Wolfram would have admonished had he been there. "What kept you?"

"Ah…_well_," Shinou said and tugged at his collar almost coyly while avoiding Murata's steady gaze. In doing so, he managed to draw attention from Yuuri's uncomfortable fidgeting in the chair. The last thing they needed was to send mixed signals at this point.

The little princess smacked her lips and then tried to dab at her greasy mouth the way Günter had taught her. "Oh, and I have a question," Greta muffled as she put a large piece of toast into her mouth and chewed. "What kind of games do newlyweds play? One person told me it starts out with special hugs."

Conrad coughed a "laugh" into his napkin. Gwendal's eyes widened impossibly. Anissina sliced a look at Lady Cheri and Dom. Murata grinned. And Günter and Claus both drained of color while Yuuri shot milk out of his nose.

Good thing it didn't go too far.

Shinou handed him something to wipe his face with. Whatever it was.

The start to another beautiful day.


	16. Chapter 16

**Author's note**: This chapter is dedicated to ~MaigretEcho17 and Aella Antiope. They inspire me so much!

* * *

.

Chapter 16

.

.

"Come on, you guys!" the guard gruffed, doing his duty to wake the prisoners for their morning meal. Not that he was in a complete hurry, mind you. He'd bribed the other guard with a shiny, copper coin to go take a cigarette break right about now for a specific reason. And, happily, the reason was here. The three young serving girls from the kitchen (who were quite easy on the eyes) held trays of food for the prisoners and he hoped to chat with them a little longer this time around before the girls had to return to their work.

Yes, the prisoners could eat their oatmeal slop and he could chitchat.

A good plan.

But, for now, he had to play the role of the strong and fearless guard to the hilt if he was going to get anywhere with any of them—preferably when he got off work tonight and had a snack in the kitchen.

The short girl with the straight brown hair standing behind him leaned slightly to the side and batted her long eyelashes.

_Oh, yeah!_

He turned his attention back to the first door. The two male prisoners, Tom and Ned, neither one had been cooperative or agreeable in their interrogations, were probably sleeping or feigning sleep. _Typical!_ He put the thick, heavy key in the oversized lock—pushing it in with a deep, metallic sliding sound. But, as he did so, his eyes briefly darted to the next door where Lady Agnes had been returned hours before, heavily sedated for her "anxiety attacks." Yes, that was how it was described to her family of lesser nobles. Though, none of them, at the moment, cared to acknowledge her.

Gwendal saw to that.

The guard took a firm tone. "Seriously, people. This is mealtime. Good food! Ya, hear?" He rattled the key in the lock for good measure, but the truth was he'd said all that for the benefit of the ladies.

He peeked over his shoulder. Did that impress them?

_Oh, yeah! Lucky!_

"And be grateful you're in Shin Makoku with such a benevolent, kind-hearted king. In the human lands," he admonished as he turned the key roughly and swung the men's door open, "your treatment would be much…"

Two bodies lay face down on the floor.

"Worse…?"

* * *

Yuuri blotted his face with a clean handkerchief that had a medium blue "W" monogrammed into the bottom right corner. Apprehensively, the double black looked up from what he was doing to see a very annoyed Shinou giving him the "Don't you dare blow it" wiggly eyebrow. Understanding it, Yuuri gave a shallow nod and, for reasons that still escaped him, he wiped his nose again with the hopes that no one would notice he'd done it three times already.

"Does His Majesty have problems with liquids?" Claus Eberstark asked Günter quietly behind his hand, remembering the fiasco with the white wine the other day.

"Not to my recollection. But consider the context," Günter murmured back gently, trying to defend Yuuri without making the scene worse than it already was. Then again, it didn't help that Lady Cheri and Dom were, in his opinion, escalating things by whispering to each other openly over their half-eaten plate. Günter did his best to mentally block out any words that should happen to drift his way. Lady Cheri had quite a vocabulary—and imagination!

"S-Sorry, everybody," Yuuri sniffed and then gave his beautiful—_innocent_—young teen daughter a grin that he hoped would be parental. But, instead, it came out as something akin to someone biting down on hard peanut brittle with a cavity.

His eyes watered.

The doors to the dining hall were opened once more and two of the von Voltaire Special Services soldiers entered wearing their crisp, dark green uniforms. Their hand-picked, elite unit was particularly useful for investigating issues that would later fall under the direct, legal scrutiny of the Ten Noble Families. And since these two serious-looking men were interrupting his breakfast, this would not be an easy matter to deal with—whatever it was. Gwendal dabbed at his dry lips with a linen napkin and stood from the table, motioning to his men to come with him.

They left the room without looking back.

"Moving on to another subject entirely," Shinou said with his smile traveling from Murata to Günter to Greta, "our little princess seems to have quite a lovely bracelet on this morning." The Original King tried to sound devilishly charming but his tone only came across as pompous.

_No way that's Wolf…Sheesh!_ Yuuri worried his lip between his teeth. If he could note the difference, Greta might, too, and be suspicious. The child was now notorious for asking strings of questions, not all of them proper. "Y-Yes," the double black chimed in. "And the stone looks just like one from that game we played. Remember? Ummm…Jewels' Crusade, I think it was." He tried to push from his mind the words "I don't want to be like you." Yes, Greta had said that while they were playing and meant every word. She didn't want an engagement forced upon her followed up by a loveless marriage. Worse yet, considering the way he was suddenly acting with "Wolfram," no wonder she was curious about "newlywed games."

_My poor child must be confused. It's my fault._

Murata's eyes were on the door—and not for the first time, either. Silently, he did as Gwendal had done and left the room without much notice. Meanwhile, Shinou pretended to admire the bracelet from where he sat. "A bloodstone. How lovely."

Greta smiled a little uncomfortably at that. Should she tell them how she got it? Would it seem like she had just picked up garbage off the ground? The young princess toyed with it, spinning the bracelet around her wrist slowly, and then, just like the others at the table, she pretended to admire it, too. But Shinou could very easily read her distress which was thinly disguised as embarrassment from attention. He knew the hearts of everyone around him very well by now.

Shinou reached out his hand politely. "You don't mind if I take a closer look at it, do you?"

And, with a shake of the head, Greta took it off.

* * *

He poured a little cream into his coffee, gave a slight stir, and placed the silver spoon down on the saucer.

"So, what you're telling me is that they're dead. They're all dead," Judge Andrew Wexler droned matter-of-factly, then took a sip. He was a no-nonsense, aging Mazoku with a light brown age spot on his left temple, snowy hair, and grey-green eyes which narrowed naturally from years of scowling down at dry legal briefs. Putting the delicate china cup down on the small side table, he then placed a monocle against his right eye and took the pages offered to him by Gwendal.

Judge Wexler leaned back in the fashionable leather chair that Gwendal provided for him which was now directly across from the oversized desk. Without looking, he could sense Lord von Voltaire's heavy, steady gaze.

They were men of the same caliber even if they were of different generations. He liked that.

Still, this situation was not satisfactory to the judge at all. Troublesome. It had taken him and his team of clerks ages to get here after finally being officially summoned by The Demon King's retainers. And a very public trial would have been good for the kingdom to witness. Good for discipline. Of course, he would be fair in all things—especially where Lady Agnes was concerned. At the moment, her family had considerable influence in exporting goods and services to the human lands through their modest fleet of ships—just the sort of thing that would build a stronger, more sound economic standing for both Shin Makoku and the human nations. Oh, yes…and it would support Yuuri Heika's "Peace with thy neighbors" philosophy as well.

Keeping the king happy was always a good byproduct of economic prosperity.

The judge looked at the reports submitted by a guard of thirty years of service, three young kitchen wenches, a Voltaire Special Services Commander, and Lord von Voltaire himself. An artist had been summoned to sketch the positions of the bodies and to record any evidence that could be found. Very realistic, very lifelike drawings.

The judge hissed a sigh. Nevertheless, inconvenient. That was what this was.

Footsteps entered.

"I just happened to hear of our guest and hoped I wouldn't be too late for this meeting," Murata said, entering Gwendal's office without invitation. He didn't need to knock, he believed, and rarely bothered to, which irritated Gwendal to no end. And an irked ponytail swished.

"Great Sage," the judge practically gasped, standing up from his chair out of respect and reverence. He had heard that the new sage was a double black who had been given a human form in this lifetime. And, although the hair color did seem a little off—or maybe, it was just old age making his eyes a bit wonky—it could be no other than Murata Ken, Great Sage of Shin Makoku.

"That I am," Murata confirmed with a slight bow in the judge's direction and a smirk in Gwendal's. There was no way he could be "uninvited" now from this discussion.

"Please, take my chair," the old judge offered, motioning to his seat out of respect.

"Oh, I couldn't," Murata replied and his eyes sparkled as Gwendal got up from his seat, circled his desk, and retrieved a chair by the door. Controlling his temper, Gwendal placed the chair next to the judge's and tried to discretely shift his stiff shoulders—a dead giveaway to Murata that the administrator was, without a doubt, annoyed.

"Coffee?" the judge offered. The small silver pot was right next to him.

A stare from Gwendal as he took his seat again behind the large desk. Niceness…pleasantries… Delays, delays.

"Thank you but no," Murata worded formally, eyeing Gwendal again with an impishness that was barely concealed.

"Well, as I was saying to Lord von Voltaire a moment ago, this 'death' business of…" The judge leafed through the heavily inked reports again. "Of commoners…Tom Smithfield, Ned Wester, and…of course, Lady Agnes Euler… is most inconvenient. And what I have yet to mention is the possibility that Lady Agnes, being a member of a minor noble house, may have surviving relatives who will seek some sort of _justice_…whether monetary or otherwise."

The "otherwise" meaning a duel.

"These things happen all too frequently, I'm afraid." The judge ended it with a tired shrug.

As he had done in the dining hall, Murata's eyes drifted to the door. It was left open ajar and he suspected the guards on the other side—supposedly on guard duty—were listening in. Then again, now that he put some thought into it, it was one of the guards who initially found the three bodies. It was not an uncommon tactic among the ruling class to place blame on a lowly guard, or any other common born witness, for the sudden demise of prisoners.

"Judge Wexler, while the sage may know many things, I am not sure that he is _fully aware_ of the details regarding the sudden deaths in the dungeon," Gwendal stated flatly. Well, that was what his words and tone said. But the new wrinkle on his forehead spoke a different story. He _hoped_ that Murata wasn't going to delve further or ask him to backtrack on what had already had been said over coffee—to save time. Yes, that was what he hoped for. But was he actually going to get it?

"Ah, but on the contrary…" Light flashed across the sage's glasses. "I am very well _aware_."

"Fine," the judge mumbled absently, going over the pages again. Oblivious to Gwendal's sudden, blank expression.

"And while it is true… The scenarios you paint are certainly plausible..." Murata folded his hands in his lap in a "sagely" way and smiled at Gwendal. "… I think them unlikely. Lady Agnes was arrested at our maou's wedding with the very means of killing our maou…or, anyone else unfortunate enough to get in the way. Not to mention…I, myself, am a witness to her attempt. And my testimony has been recorded and a copy sent to her noble house." He pointed to another page that the judge was holding. "And this is a list of witnesses at the wedding who will swear they saw her planning to strike."

Judge Wexler sat back in the chair a little heavily and it was unclear to Gwendal whether it was out of relief or simply old age which made him do it. Possibly, a bit of both. The judge hated long, messy court cases—which, these days, seemed to be the majority of his dealings. But, luckily, with this case, it was likely that he would be able to go home sooner than expected and spend time with his cat, Snowy.

The sage reached into his inside pocket and retrieved a paper. "Now, if you'll notice this page here…" Murata handed over a document in his beautifully penned handwriting. "It states that I have examined the evidence as well as the crime scenes," the sage went on placidly, "and I must say I am impressed."

Gwendal's face seemed to say, "Wha-? Examined? So quickly?" He had only spent fifteen or twenty minutes alone with the judge while waiting for the coffee and another five drinking it before the sage had barged in. But, Gwendal didn't voice his confusion. Instead, he leaned forward and grabbed parchment, an ink pot, and a quill. "How, exactly, do you believe that the murderer or murderers did it?"

"Oh, there was a lot of thought behind it. And, yet, it was all quite straightforward to do…" And light flashed across his glasses again. "A very simple recipe, you might say."

* * *

"I'm glad you have taken a sudden interest in Greta's choice of jewelry," Yuuri said quietly between them, his tone carrying a sarcastic note as he walked along with a dawdling Shinou. "…But doing that and eating really set us back." Then, his dark eyes glanced down the next hall to make sure they were totally alone before continuing. "Come on," he urged in an undertone, "I thought we were in a hurry. I thought we were trying to find that person who felt like… I dunno…velvet or something. A missing 'aura,' you said."

A green-eyed wink. "But, we did find the person."

"We…_did_?" Yuuri asked incredulously. "When? How?"

Shinou was just about to shush him when, at the far end of the hallway, the echo of a thump could be heard. A heavy, exterior wooden door had closed, catching the blond's attention.

The double black could feel his patience wane. "Shinou?" he whispered.

The blond said nothing but pointed a warning finger at him and then went back to the way he was before—almost staring into space.

"Okay, okay… _Wolfram_?" He leaned in closer and waved a hand across Shinou's eyes. Nothing. But he was determined not to give up. "Are you even listening to me? Or, do I have to use _your name_ again?"

Shinou seemed distracted and he said absently, "Did you notice Greta's bracelet?"

_What? We're on to that again? _He rested a hand on his hip. "Yeah, pretty…"

"Did you notice it? Really take a close look at your daughter's bracelet? You didn't buy it for her. In fact, nobody did."

The double black shrugged. "But, it's just a girl's jewelry."

Green eyes still stared into space and then moved slightly as though tracking something. "Was that all it seemed to you? Just jewelry?"

The double black shrugged awkwardly. "Well…yeah…"

"Didn't some of the wax-coated 'threads' making up the bracelet look familiar? The colors…? Something suspiciously like…lavender hair?"

"Lavender?" Yuuri leaned forward and whispered, "You mean…like Günter's hair?"

A nod. "You may have been right after all, Yuuri Heika. Günter von Christ may not have even realized the bracelet he'd been wearing had multiple charms placed upon it. Or, in other words…he was guilty of writing those letters without any knowledge of it. Being used, you might say… And he did know your schedule very well…which made delivery easy."

"Then, is Greta safe?" Yuuri demanded, tugging on Shinou's arm for attention. Some part of him wanted to run to her now—to hold her close. "Is she safe?"

"Most certainly," he returned in a ghosted voice, "it was never meant for her."

In relief, Yuuri leaned over, breathing hard. He almost lost Wolfram. He would not lose Greta, too.

A familiar outline.

The young, half human gardener who had caught Yuuri and Murata in the garden was now walking in their direction. Yuuri had a flashback how the chubby faced gardener with brown pigtails had caught them in the garden, thus forcing them to kiss as a means to get away. Yuuri's heart thumped uneasily at that memory, forgetting for the moment all of his previous issues with Shinou.

Wolfram—his Wolfram—would have been absolutely livid if he'd witnessed that scene. It would have played into all of his fears—both real and imagined.

Now, his heart had changed. The double black didn't want Wolfram to hurt. He'd seen pain etched in his features too many times and didn't want to add to it. He glanced at his wedding ring and then the ring Shinou was wearing. There was something profoundly unfair about Shinou wearing Wolfram's wedding ring even if he was temporarily playing the role of the Royal Consort_. _

It made him shake his head_. Unfair._

The footsteps grew louder as the young half Mazoku approached with the seemingly humble gait of those in the working classes and Yuuri found himself looking up uncomfortably.

From beneath the earth-smudged sunhat, the gardener's gold eyes fell upon him and Yuuri grinned widely out of habit with a brief "hello." King. He never saw himself as "a king" before coming here.

Shinou stopped, too, and tilted his head with a slight frown in the exact same way Yuuri had seen Wolfram do when he was interested. Although, for the most part, it was mainly fascination about Earth things such as chocolate almond Pocky or the universal remote for the TV which captured his attention. And, yet, that same beautiful pose could win hearts without Wolfram ever truly realizing it. (Yuuri could just imagine pink, twirling roses filling the background.)

It was as though he blocked out the attentions—both good and bad—of everyone once his heart chose Yuuri. A blindness.

For only the fraction of a second, the gardener's expression seemed to show frustration, not attraction. Briefly, Yuuri wondered what it was that Wolfram had done to trouble him. Well, being this close, he was now assuming from the round, boyish face it was a "him." Before, Yuuri kind of thought it was a "her." Then again, in Shin Makoku, one could never truly tell.

Günter was a prime example.

_What could it be?_ Yuuri thought, scratching his cheek. On the one hand, "Wolfram" had been a very good boy lately, all things considered. Then, on the other hand, with the type of devastating fire damage that Wolfram had caused to the rose garden three days before the wedding when he thought his fiancé was cheating on him with a girl (and, truthfully, Yuuri knew he was only escorting her to a chair because she had a rock in her shoe)… Well, a gardener's exasperation would be understandable. The garden staff was still composting the mess, cutting away the last of the burnt foliage, and preparing the soil for replacement plants while the weather was still agreeable in addition to their regular, seasonal duties.

A flash of memory.

And, yes, once again, there was that kiss in the garden with Murata as "Wolf" and the Royal Consort suddenly pointing and shouting at the intrusive gardener in the darkness…

This _exact_ gardener…

Such noise.

And probably embarrassment on all sides…

Yuuri rubbed the back of his head uncomfortably. "Ah, well… Have a nice day," he said in the hopes that that would end it—to break the tension.

And, as the royal couple walked off, Yuuri squeaked unexpectedly as Shinou reached down behind his back and grabbed his ass. And a good, firm hand-full at that!

Three maids passing in the hallway covered their mouths to keep from laughing out loud and scurried off at the first opportunity.

Turning beet red, Yuuri turned to Shinou and growled, "Stop it or else!" He took a few cautionary steps away from the blond. Yuuri had to show him he was serious.

A smile in amusement at that. "Ah, be a good boy and I'll reward you tonight." Green eyes seemed to assure a thousand pleasures.

"Oh, really?" A suspicious glare. "I don't want any kind of 'reward,' coming from you. And I don't really care what name you call it."

"This one you will," The Original King promised him with a cocky posture making it seem all that much worse. "And you'll thank me, too, I'm sure." And, with that, he put his hands in his pockets and whistled a happy, ancient tune as he went.

Yuuri rolled his eyes and then jogged to keep up.

"Stop whistling."

"Why?"

"Because Wolf doesn't act like that."

"He does now."

* * *

"So, what is your theory?" Gwendal asked, ready to take each word down.

Judge Wexler adjusted his monocle. "Yes, what were the events?"

A pleasant, sagely smile. "Well, if you'll examine the sketches, you'll see that there was a small pile of white, fluffy powder …just here near the door where one of the guards always stands. I've examined the residue for myself and I've come to the conclusion that it is your ordinary, run-of-the-mill sleeping powder." The sage rubbed his thumb and forefinger together for good measure. "A simple substance that can be purchased in the village below or, if one is skilled in making medicines…and the like…" He let the idea linger in the air.

Gwendal lifted his gaze from the page and met eyes with Murata. Yes, he understood now.

"Well, yes," the judge agreed. "Many Mazoku use sleeping powders to relieve insomnia. Understandable enough. So, what you're saying is that the guard on duty was drugged."

"Obviously," Murata replied.

"But, that brings up another question. Was there only one guard on duty?" the judge asked, now seemingly demanding an answer for the lax supervision. The tone was like a demanding father.

"Toilet," Gwendal sighed openly. "The other guard had to go. And his testimony about when he got back was that the lone guard on duty was somewhat 'sleepy'."

"But not sound asleep?" Murata chuckled his own question, knowing better.

"He probably nudged him awake," the judge said resentfully, "out of habit."

Gwendal wanted to snarl at that jab. His security may not have been perfect, but it wasn't that lax. Besides, there was nothing in the prisoners' backgrounds that spelled "extreme danger." That was why they were able to slip into the wedding so easily in the first place.

"And, once inside," Murata plodded on in an effort to get this over with, seeing the expression on Gwendal's face being a prime motivator, "passing the snookles through the iron prison bars set in the doors…effortless."

The judge pursed his lips before trying the word. "Snookles?"

Gwendal shook his head at that, too.

Murata sighed with mock impatience. "Obviously, neither one of you are dessert lovers. A 'snookle' is something like a large, no-bake cookie very popular in Big Cimaron. Its ingredients, if memory serves, consists of: rolled oats, butter, honey, rose petals, vanilla, sea salt, grated apples and, in this special case, bitter almond extract along with the chopped nuts…"

"Bitter almond extract?" Gwendal met the sage's eyes again, confirming things.

"And evidence of the poisoned food crumbs could be found here, here, and here," Murata pointed on the sketched page again, "within mere inches of all three bodies. And, yes, I predict an autopsy will show that they've all eaten significant amounts." The sage rested his elbows on the armrests and steepled his fingers. "Not to mention, the scent of bitter almond is distinct…if you know what you're looking for, smelled it before. But, anyone not a connoisseur of Big Cimaron delicacies or food specialties around the world would have missed it entirely."

Gwendal looked up from his work. "But you could sense it?"

"I dropped by the dungeons before coming here, remember? A sage's duty, really. And I was able to confirm what was there."

The judge hummed to himself, going back to the testimonies. "So, what will you do now, Lord von Voltaire?"

"Keep the investigation open," Gwendal grumped as he finished scribbling down his notes.

"A wise choice," Murata complemented. "A very wise choice."

* * *

When Yuuri returned from his hot bath, and he was blissfully happy that Shinou had allowed him to take it alone, the double black was surprised to discover several women busying around his bedroom. The aproned kitchen servants were setting up a small, round dining table set for two with glittering gold-rimmed place settings, crystal goblets, and a wide, beeswax candle surrounded by petite, sugared fruits as a centerpiece.

He continued to rub his ebony hair with a damp towel as he padded his way in. "Uh…pretty," he said but what he really wanted to say was, "What's going on?"

The women glanced at him and bowed out of respect but continued to perform the last of their work. And Yuuri hugged his wooden bucket of bath items in front of him almost defensively, not comfortable to greet anyone other than Wolfram in just his bathrobe. Maybe, he had become more modest as he'd grown older. Despite his Japanese nature, more and more, he found himself not being that pleased to be barely dressed even in front of Murata or Günter anymore—even though they were guys, too. Or, maybe, he was just more comfortable around Wolfram. A peaceful feeling, now that he really reflected upon it.

He looked down at his wedding band on his ring finger. _Like an old married couple, huh?_

His parents were like that, weren't they?

"Like what you see?" Shinou peeked over his shoulder and, in surprise, Yuuri jerked—letting the towel flop down over his face like a cowl.

The women laughed softly behind their hands and took that as a cue to exit the room. The newlyweds needed their privacy, after all. And rumor had spread about the now notorious "butt grab" in the hallway.

The door closed with a hushed thump.

"So, you're here," Yuuri sulked from beneath the towel. "I had wondered where you'd gone off to."

Shinou lifted an edge and peeked under the damp cloth. "Funny you should phrase it that way. But, still, look what we have here." He gestured to their evening meal.

Yuuri pushed back the towel to see a perfectly beautiful table set up along with serving tables laden with silver platters of roasted herb chicken, freshly baked rolls, steaming mixed vegetables, assorted cheeses, two bottles of wine, and a pitcher of Yuuri's favorite fruit juice with two fat slices of strawberry cake.

It smelled wonderful.

Yuuri could feel the bucket being taken from him as he gazed at the food. Subconsciously, he wrapped his white bathrobe around himself a little tighter. "It's a little early for dinner…isn't it?"

"No matter…" Like a gentleman, Shinou pulled out a chair. "My king, please be seated," he purred and set to work fixing a plate for Yuuri. With his back to the young double black, he said, "I hope you enjoy tonight's _meal_." He put a strange emphasis on the last word—making Yuuri shiver somewhere within. "I know you like this meal in particular thanks to Wolfram's memories and I ordered it especially for you to enjoy." He positioned the plate before the double black with finesse. "Oh, yes," the blond went on as though the thought had suddenly occurred to him. "And I ordered that over there as well," directing Yuuri's attention to the oversized bed where a brand new pair of black silk pajamas waited for him on silk sheets covered in blood red rose petals.

Candles near the bed burned a sultry, spicy scent.

Yuuri's eyes widened impossibly. "Ehhh?"

"It's about time we settled things. Don't you think? And take pleasure while we can…?" Shinou asked as a brief knock came to the door.

The blond turned and walked over, opening the door smoothly as though he was already aware of their visitor.

Yuuri craned his neck to see.

A cute curtsey. "Would Your Highnesses," the young lady asked,"prefer to have me serve your meals at this time?"

"My dear…" Still standing in the doorway, Shinou placed his hand against the lady's cheek, caressing it with his thumb—pretending to admire the lavender eyes and light brown bobbed hair. The stroking was so intimate, so personal. The double black felt himself sweat dropping and looking away. He told himself that it was more than a little embarrassing to watch knowing how Wolfram would have reacted to the behavior had he known. Yes, that was what Yuuri told himself. And, if he repeated it enough times, it would be true.

He was not jealous. Couldn't be.

This was not Wolfram doing it. The gentle feelings, not real.

And this was all too sudden to take in.

Yuuri put a hand across his eyes, trying to focus as the door closed. He was going to have to straighten himself out if he was going to face the servant who was here with them tonight. Yes, take a deep breath and let it out. No uncertainties, no distress. That was Shinou doing it. Not Wolfram.

Yuuri looked up with an uneasy smile on his face just in time to see Wolfram's body sink onto its knees in front of the roaring fireplace. Glancing around, Yuuri realized that the woman was gone—had left without a word.

"Damn," breathed Wolfram's voice and Yuuri got up cautiously, stepping forward. Worried again but for a whole different reason.

"Oi, you okay?"

His profile caressed by the glow of the fireplace, the blond was now sitting on the floor, knees to his chest and arms wrapped around them. "How much…time?"

"Wolfram?" Yuuri said, much louder than he had intended to. He could see the blond wince at the sound of his voice but there was absolutely no doubt in his mind. The double black fell to his knees beside Wolfram and took him in his arms, hugging the blond and gladly burying his face in his hair. And while the shampooed hair no longer smelled like the "Wolfram" he knew, the skin did.

It was him.

They were together.

And he felt he was the luckiest person in the world.

"Wolfram."

"Yes, it's me."

* * *

"So, do we have Judge Wexler down for the night?" Conrad asked as a kind of joke which Gwendal did not find funny at all. The old man was the last Mazoku on the planet that anyone would think of sending off to bed with a tray of milk and cookies.

"He wasn't so bad, but his clerks were quite a different story…very difficult to manage," Gwendal complained as they made their way to their own private quarters. It had been a long day. "One clerk refused to room with another because of social status. Two of them are married and want to room together, another has a nervous stomach and wants to be near the privy, etc. etc." He put a hand to his head. "I've just spent the last half hour straightening the whole mess out."

Passing by a window, Gwendal could see his mother and Dom kissing sweetly in the moonlight. He stopped abruptly. "And I hope dear little 'Dom-Dom' goes home, too," he added sourly. "I've grown tired of seeing his face."

Conrad looked out the window, too. "Yes, Mother has certainly kept him around a bit longer than her usual…_companions_."

It was true.

"Well, at least, with Wolfram married, we do not have to worry about him turning out like her." Gwendal's memories flitted to the past, several decades back. "We were concerned about him there for a while, though…back when he had that growth spurt after coming of age."

Conrad shuffled his feet a little uncomfortably. "Yes, he did seem to attract a lot of attention. And he enjoyed himself _thoroughly_. I tried talking to him about it but…"

"I remember."

Conrad didn't need to say anything more. That "You're a filthy human and you can't tell me what to do" rang through the halls more than once. And it was clear that the words did sting even though the second son would do little more than smile blandly at the words and, occasionally, pat the bratty younger brother on the head.

"But I'm not entirely certain, Gwendal, that this marriage to Yuuri will work out."

That had to be said and Gwendal's expression softened a little. Too many things had gone wrong—wrong from the start, he knew. And it was impossible to undo them now. Not to mention, part of it was his fault, especially the wedding, which was his idea initially.

"When the time comes…he will be lonely," Conrad observed.

Gwendal continued on—walking past the window. His mother and Dom had long since disappeared from view anyway. "Loneliness has never killed anyone," he reminded Conrad. "And, in his case, he may actually learn from it."

"And what would that be?"

"Life gets easier once you accept the fact that it isn't perfect."

Conrad scratched his chin in thought as he walked along side his brother. "Somehow, I doubt that this would be the lesson Wolfram would take away from the situation."

Gwendal's mind replayed scenes: Wolfram insulting Yuuri. The slap in the face. The indignity of being engaged to a weakling. A begrudging respect over time. Slowly falling in "like" and then "in love" with the weakling." Smiles—legitimate ones. A purpose now. Adventures. Chasing after "cheater Yuuri" in the hallway. Love that was one-sided and out of reach. Pain in Wolfram's eyes for the first time and more so as the weeks and months slowly passed.

Nobody cared.

Nobody wanted to see.

"Wolfram knows the ways to fail," Gwendal said coldly. "And, once this is over, we can end this fiasco of a marriage…get Wolfram to see reason."

Conrad lowered his head a little. "Send him away, you mean."

"More like a long tour of duty and the chance to find a new lover…"

"Same thing."

* * *

There was a firm knock on his bedroom door. Murata put his book down and took up his glasses in a swift motion from the desktop. Staying the night at Blood Pledge Castle was always a treat—having access to the Royal Library, enjoying the strange characters that frequented the place, and…the unexpected.

And this was unexpected.

Being the Great Sage of Shin Makoku certainly had its advantages.

It was a good thing he had not readied himself for bed just yet. A short, lavender eyed, brown haired Mazoku wearing a frilly apron and a warm smile bustled her way in carrying a tray of herb tea and thinly sliced pieces of spice cake. Murata blinked at her audacity as she cleared a place at the table, moving books and parchment aside, and rested her delicious burden down with a slightly awkward clink.

She smoothed down her dark skirt, her back still to Murata.

"Um…excuse me…" Murata began while, at the same time, appreciating the very alluring and curvy outline of the Mazoku. He started with her round bottom. Pert breasts were always nice, but he liked starting with the bottom first—a small perversion in this lifetime, he supposed.

She turned on her heel and gave him a direct stare. "Really, my sage. Have you nothing better to do this night than read this tripe?" A long, painted fingernail flipped up the cover of the top book of the stack and let it fall with a sullen thump.

His eyes widened in surprise and then anger set in."Shinou!" Murata gritted out, feeling fooled and betrayed at the same time. "What, the hell, are you doing? Possessing people again for your own sick pleasure?" It was just like him to do that. And he'd been doing it far too often lately.

A crooked grin and a swagger in Murata's direction. "Only for you, my dear. Don't you like this body? It seemed as though you did when I walked in but hid my aura behind hers so that you wouldn't notice it." And then a thought, Shinou tapping a finger against the cheek cutely. "I could certainly make this evening for you a memorable one…if you like…my sage."

There was a feral spark in those lavender eyes.

Murata felt his breath being taken away. "What are you implying?"

"I imply nothing…say everything… And with the greatest of sincerity." A hand reached out seductively for the double black sage.

It was smacked away.

"You do not own me and I am not 'your sage.' Do you understand?" Murata narrowed his eyes. "Just leave! Leave that woman's body, leave the castle…" He met up—eye to eye. "And leave ME ALONE!"

Murata was breathing hard by now and some part of him was miserable. Torn. Fighting with Shinou never felt right inside and he wondered if it was the essence of the Original Sage nagging him, telling him to do better or try harder.

"Temper, temper," Shinou sighed as he kicked off the dark brown, sensible shoes and sat suggestively on Murata's bed—knees together but leaning back to show all of this body's most remarkable features. "You know, this bed really smells like you. I love your perfume."

"Cologne," he corrected.

"Whatever."

"Shinou!" Murata pulled his hands into fists. "You're so…selfish!"

A complaint also made by the Original Sage.

An eyebrow arched. "Well, if you're going to be like that… then I really should leave. And I won't tell you about…" The Original King stopped suddenly and waited to see if his words—his fishing—would catch a fish called Murata Ken.

A most delectable fish.

A long pause and then an angry and suspicious, "About?"

Shinou got more comfortable on the bed and the dark blue skirt slid back a little on the thighs.

The sage paced for a second—debating what to do. "You really know something, don't you? I can tell from that expression." Murata Ken folded his arms against his chest. "But I just, just…" He could feel his defenses weakening. Was he acting like the "Great Sage" right now or not? "Damn it," he spat. Murata almost hated himself for what he was about to say next. But he knew he'd have to say it, falling into the trap—playing along with another of Shinou's little games. But it was for the greater good—he hoped. He gave a long, heavy sigh to control his temper. That's what he usually did when dealing with the ancient spirit. "What is it about…?" he prodded. "You've dragged me into it this far."

A sexy, devious smile from the bed. The skirt slipped back a little more—teasingly so. And a slow, suggestive bucking of the hips didn't hurt, revealing the hint of light blue panty lace.

Lavender eyes watched him.

Long lashes.

"Well, Shinou?" Murata coughed into his fist as a hand toyed with the hem of the skirt.

Thighs. Murata tried his best not to focus on them. Still, in this lifetime, he was a human male—all too human—and creamy thighs were, nonetheless, very attractive and _desirable_. He told himself it was just hormones. Chemicals in the blood that were playing a number on him. He shouldn't even fantasize about touching those soft, dewy thighs. She would probably giggle if he did.

He shook his head slowly. First, he was livid. Now, this. And, very likely, Shinou was somehow influencing his libido in more ways than the obvious. Murata had to get a grip on himself. He just had to. He tugged at his collar.

Fingers carded through springy, brown hair. "Well…there's lots of things… starting with Greta's bracelet and a very intriguing little gardener I met today."

Thankfully, that killed the mood. A sigh of relief. "Junk jewelry and a gardener? That's what this visit's about?" With a sullen expression, the sage eased down in his chair by the desk. "Do tell…" He made a gesture to get on with it.

A finger wagged in the air. "Uh-uh-uhh." Shinou's feral grin returned. "Not until you…" The hand patted a spot on the bed beside him.

The sage stood from his chair. "Shinou!" he berated.

A hand darted out.

"Oi, wait! Wait!"

The springs on the bed squeaked.

Being the Great Sage of Shin Makoku certainly had its disadvantages as well.


	17. Chapter 17

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Chapter 17

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Wolfram, still in Yuuri's arms, patted him softly on the back to calm him. From experience, he knew that it didn't take much to get the young king strangely excited over the most mundane things in Shin Makoku. So, he didn't think his sudden reappearance should have evoked this much commotion. Wolfram was getting almost used to mentally "appearing" and "disappearing" by now. Or, at least, that's what he told himself.

Lies could soften things, couldn't they?

Even though there was no one else in the room but the two of them, Wolfram felt it best to be the strong one, to act dignified. Too much shouting, no matter the subject, always drew the attention of the castle dwellers. And, considering the delicate nature of what he was going through right now, Wolfram didn't want any more interest in him than necessary—and, most certainly, he did not want guards suddenly rushing in, demanding to know what was going on.

Green eyes looked beyond his king and into the gentle, low-burning fire. Crackling, popping. The smoky heat and the red glow—much like the fire that dwelled within. The fire that he, himself, wielded. And, just like that fire, he felt small and weary. Without being fueled, death seemed certain.

"_Wolf!_" Yuuri said his name with such delight, a true feeling from the bottom of his heart. But, that sentiment could not be returned, Wolfram knew. In that moment, he felt nothing and wanted to feel nothing. His more recent memories were riddled with sudden, unexpected gaps in time and were nothing more substantial than moth-eaten holes in fabric or pages torn from a favorite book.

He was fearful, though he would never admit it openly, and he felt cold—a bone, chill.

The question. Why hadn't Yuuri answered it? _How long?_

He glanced at the double black. _Was it intentional? Maybe, it was._

Wolfram could feel his heartbeat. Faster, faster. Thumping. Now, some part of him dreaded the answer. His eyes sought out the fire again, wishing to meld with it and to become one with it. To vanish in the embers. But that was the nature of a fire wielder to begin with. To want that.

Escape.

"You're back, Wolf," Yuuri said into his ear. "Are you okay?" The double black leaned away to look into Wolfram's face. He could always tell when the blond was evading the truth or covering up supposed weaknesses with courage.

"I'm…fine," Wolfram answered, having to think about his response first. But, instead of accepting it as good manners would dictate in Shin Makoku, Yuuri only scanned his face a bit longer, searching for something. "What?" the blond said irritably, but the snappish tone was barely above a whisper.

"I'm not sure if you're really okay." Not an easy thing to confess after missing Wolfram so badly and regretting all of their time apart. Still, he knew, he would feel better if he put all of his cards out on the table like this.

Sure, Wolfram might get mad but…

"Enough, damn it!" The double black could feel Wolfram moving away, a callused hand putting pressure against his shoulder to get leverage to do so. And, with a frown on his face, Yuuri took hold of the blond's wrist and pulled him down into his lap with a single, hard jerk. Black eyes narrowed. "Don't curse at me."

'The Hell? You think you've got the stones to…" The blond's right fist doubled.

Instantly, they were at each other. The two of them struggled as Wolfram tried to get to his feet and failed miserably, plopping down between Yuuri's legs this time. The legs suddenly tightened around the waist and a hand gripped Wolfram's wrist, giving a hard shake to get his attention. The double black gritted his teeth, determined. "And, you know what? You're still not back to normal," he observed keenly, "or I'd be wrestling you a lot harder to do this."

Wolfram didn't have a snappy comeback for that, still too furious with himself and Yuuri.

Yuuri was breathing hard now, but he had won—won, and declared victory. Wolfram, breathing just as fast, could sense it. But still…

"Weak?" That was what he heard coming out of Yuuri's mouth and there was a glare at the insult. "You're insane…either that or it's your turn to be possessed by Shinou," he fumed, "because the Yuuri I know would rather die than hold me like this." It was followed by a brief, fruitless struggle with the double black shifting Wolfram's body and then gripping him firmly around the waist with his right arm and a strong clasp with the left hand on his wrist this time.

"Face it. You aren't back to your old 'bratty' self and I'll stick by that opinion," Yuuri returned, lips close to Wolfram's and he knew it. His voice softened, "Or you would be threatening me with fire right about now…even though we both know you'd never hurt me."

There was no fire. Not even smoke.

Still close—oh, so close—and raven eyes were drawn to Wolfram's lips. To lean in, just an inch, and they would be…

_NO! _In frustration, the blond tilted his head back, still wriggling to get free. "Who do you think you are?"

The pressure at the waist tightened. "I think I'm your king! Do you hear me, Wolf?" A hard shake to get his attention. The blond body was tossed side to side like a ragdoll. "Your king!"

A deathly quiet pause and all that could be heard between them was heavy breathing.

"My king." Wolfram suddenly dropped his shoulders with a defeated look on his down-turned face. He was tired: tired of Yuuri, tired of this—whatever "this" was—and his body ached with fatigue. Enough. He'd had enough.

Maybe, Yuuri had mumbled the word "finally," or maybe, it was his imagination. And then, in the next second, Wolfram could feel his lithe body swaying back into Yuuri's arms with his head firmly positioned on a bare shoulder. "And you are my consort. Never forget that, Wolf."

Fingers stroked blond hair fondly with a sense of relief. A small smile, for Yuuri was getting his way. "Though, for some reason, I feel like we've had this conversation before."

He could feel the resentment and determination draining away with such sweetly said words. And Wolfram hated himself for such weaknesses. A minor "humph" and Wolfram found himself relaxing slightly in Yuuri's arms. "We have…but…"

"But what?"

The blond felt himself being rocked a little in Yuuri's arms and, regretfully, enjoyed it far too much. Why wasn't he strong? Why didn't he learn from his past with Yuuri? "Pain" always followed "hope." And, yet, he was on the path again. He could feel it. The first step to letting his heart believe again—the very idea of spending their lives together like this. _So easily._ What a fool he was, lapping up attention this way and taking delight in the warmth, the closeness, of this body.

"This always ends," he whispered.

Yuuri pressed his cheek against Wolfram's. "You don't make any sense to me. It starts out so good. I'm so glad that you're back. And, then, for some reason, we start fighting." He nuzzled the blond a little because it felt good and wondered if Wolfram would take offense at it. "I'm tired of fighting. I'd rather get to the apologies and make up."

A glint of metal.

Wolfram lifted his head, curious. "Your ring..." He reached out a hand to touch it. "You're still wearing your wedding ring, Yuuri." A sigh and he rested his blond head back in surrender. "Strange," he murmured.

"Why? We're married, you know," Yuuri said with a shrug and then realized something rather important. His robe had opened itself during the struggling and the top half had pooled around his elbows and waist. His body felt cool and with Wolfram this close, there was something deeply erotic about it. The places where their bare skin touched felt warm and pleasing. He could feel the heat rising in his cheeks. "Oh, gee… I…uh…"

A thought: Exactly how would this look if someone like Conrad walked in right now? Or worse yet…Gwendal? Black eyes widened impossibly at that.

Self-consciousness creeping in, he fidgeted—trying to get his clothes back in order despite the leggy-weight still sitting in his lap. And the blond wasn't making it any easier on him.

_As I expected…_ Wolfram shifted in his lap. Straddling him now, the blond pursed his lips to what he saw was wimpy fidgeting. "Why be embarrassed? We're married, you know." He tilted his head to the side owlishly.

Yuuri shook his head to clear it. "No, it's just that… I uh…"

_The door's not locked._

The blond crossed his arms defensively—essentially making a barrier between the two of them but not shifting his position from where he was sitting. "I've seen you naked in the baths, Yuuri…many times. You don't have anything I haven't seen before." Then, for some reason, his eyes flicked to the bed.

"Black silk…_pajamas_…?"

Silk sheets.

Blood red rose petals.

"Oh, but that over there is new," he pointed out and then sliced a look at Yuuri. "Were you and Shinou planning an evening together?" His eyes took in the rest of the room. "And food…" He craned his neck. "Your favorite meal, I see… Quite a romantic evening."

"Romantic? No way, Wolf!" He put his hands up defensively. "Really, we were just going to have dinner. That's all."

A non-committal hum to that.

"Seriously!"

The blond took that opportunity to stand up and dust himself off—finally freeing himself from the double black's possessive grasp. "Well, believe it or not, I think you're telling the truth." Wolfram approached the bed and picked up the silk pajamas, inspecting them. "New…and…" Underneath the sleepwear, a black, lace up the front matching thong fell out. Wolfram inspected the inside of the thong without hesitation, making Yuuri want to crawl out of his skin when he said, "Never been worn, I see."

"Ewww! Wolf!" he whined, making the blond smile just a little as he took a seat on his side of the bed.

"So, why didn't you answer my question?" Wolfram asked frankly, taking a red rose petal and flicking it off the bed.

It tumbled down.

He flicked another. Watching was becoming a welcome distraction while he waited.

"Question?" Was repeated dumbly as he scratched his cheek.

At that, Wolfram's mouth became a thin line. "How long….have I been _away_?" He sounded confident and slightly annoyed but, in reality, he was bracing himself for the worst. Maybe, Shinou had dabbled in their lives again, making things run a crazy course. And it would be easy enough to do. There was no one to keep a certain "Demon King" on the straight and narrow. So, really, anything could have happened with the passage of time—making the situation not so bad now that they'd lived with it for awhile—whatever it was. Wolfram took in Yuuri's face. Yuuri didn't seem any older. But, if time had passed, he may have taken many mistresses and concubines by now. An image of Yuuri pushed down in their bed surrounded by five giggling, "breasts swinging like voluptuous pendulums" women flashed through his head.

Other Demon Kings had done this. It was nothing new. Allowed even.

And it would be best to let him enjoy them. To be happy on his own. But, first, Wolfram felt he deserved the truth.

T hat at least.

And Yuuri would have to say the words.

He owed him that much. And then, it could be over.

To let go…finally.

"Oh!" Raven eyes widened in understanding. "Ummm…not that long. No more than a day or two…no big deal, really." He scratched the back of his head, concentrating. "Maybe, more like several hours if you counted them all up."

Wolfram nodded, biting his bottom lip. Not as bad as he had envisioned and there was some part of him that felt greatly comforted. But, not remembering anything during those times was still disconcerting. Another thought popped into his mind. What if Shinou had done something _strange_ while in his body? Wolfram eyed Yuuri a little closer. _Maybe?_

No, there would be no way that Yuuri would stand for it.

No way at all.

"So, uh… If we're answering questions… Then, you'll answer mine, too." The double black cocked his head to the side, curious. "How are you feeling, Wolf? Really, I mean."

Wolfram balled up the black pajamas along with the thong and tossed the lot off the bed without giving a second thought. He pulled his legs up on the bed and sat cross legged. "Truthfully…I feel like I'm getting over a long illness…not 'bad' exactly but not one hundred percent." He leaned back a little, bracing himself with his hands. "I don't know if that makes any sense or not." Blond hair fell against his cheek as he glanced away.

"Yeah, it does. Thanks for telling me," Yuuri said, relieved in his own way, and padded over to the bed, taking a seat next to the blond so that they were now side by side. A comfortable feeling, familiar. Right. "And, for the record…I really missed you." There was a shy blush on his face now. A little color on those Asian features—beyond handsome.

"Thanks," Wolfram chuckled lowly, "I think I got the message when I drifted back here in front of the fireplace, freezing, and you came rushing at me."

"Freezing?"

The room didn't feel all that cold. Even when his robe fell open, "cool" was not "freezing."

"When Shinou left my body, it felt empty and cold….cold on the inside." A thin smile as he explained, "But, I'm glad he's gone and I'm never ever going to let him back inside again. I got really tired of his dreams and dream-visions."

"Whoa…" Yuuri leaned forward, interested. "You really could see Shinou's dreams?"

A casual nod. "Yes, and, sometimes, he'd make up dreams to entertain me or to make me angry…to keep me sane, I think, while I was recovering because I simply could not stand the white space where I was floating." He decided not to go into too much detail. There was a future he wanted badly and, if it was the best way of protecting Yuuri, he'd go through with it with long, beautiful wings.

Yuuri could somewhat follow Wolfram's account. Though, not all of it made perfect sense to him—especially the nightmarish events leading up to Wolfram becoming an angel. And his face showed it.

"I think that Shinou is skilled at making dreams and fantasies that seem real," Wolfram clarified, "because he cannot touch things in the physical world unless he possesses someone…and, even doing that takes a lot of energy. I could feel him tire…a feeling different from when my body grows tired."

Yuuri scratched his head. "Then, how does Shinou recharge?"

"Reee…char...juuh…?" The blond blinked at him curiously. It had to be a weird Earth word or something.

"Oh, um… I mean 'get energy'." Yuuri decided it was easier after all to use the term Wolfram used.

The fire Mazoku counted off on his fingers. "Two ways…the first and slowest being sleep." Wolfram's face twitched into a smile at the thought of the other way. "And the second…well… Just curious… Is The Great Sage staying over in the castle tonight?"

"Well…yeah…" Yuuri shrugged. "Doing more research."

The smile grew a bit wider and resembled "a cat has cream" expression. "Somehow, I don't believe he'll be doing much _research _tonight. When Shinou possessed that woman who came to the door just now, his final message to me was 'Enjoy your evening. My lover awaits'."

Wolfram wiggled an eyebrow.

"_Lover_?" Yuuri choked out. He pointed to the door as though giving directions to Murata's private rooms. "Wait a minute! I thought those two did not get along. I mean, just look how they are together." It was impossible. Inconceivable. He just couldn't wrap his mind around it.

A sad shake of the head. "Lovers fight and lovers make up, Yuuri… That's what they do."

If it's real, that is.

They do.

It's called passion.

* * *

Never in any of his previous lives could Murata Ken recall being so thoroughly ravished. His body now had a very pleasant tingling, ringing sensation throughout. Every inch of him had been licked, fondled, kissed, and cajoled into life more or less against his will. Okay, well… It started out on the "less" side and easily progressed to the "more."

Okay, so, maybe it was good… Very good.

His wrists were still bound to the headboard by the belt belonging to the girl—whatever her name happened to be—which was part of her castle uniform.

Boy, was she strong…and determined.

His glasses had been placed on the table in a loving way at some point. Exactly when, he couldn't recall. His mind was too foggy at the moment to even bother recalling that much.

The sage squinted, noting that their clothes had been tossed about recklessly onto the floor—all done by her or Shinou or both. He sensed "both." The lovemaking had a power and energy about it that was different from all of his past memories even though he was tied up—a particular fetish of Shinou's. But it wasn't bad, either, but it had left him still breathless while…

A nude, wet with sweat body sliding down against him.

Murata looked down his chest to see the sleeping form of the girl with light brown bobbed hair. For some reason, which totally escaped him, she was now using his stomach as a pillow while forcing his legs wider apart. Not exactly the kind of snuggly, cuddly, after-glow kind of thing he usually liked. A pleasant wriggle between his legs.

Murata smirked. (Or, at least, he thought he did once upon a time.)

What was the last thing she did? Oh, yes… It seemed that she'd fallen asleep after making delicious little love bites from his knee to inner thigh and up with the intention of marking him. And she'd done a fabulous job. Expert even. He could feel every single one and would have a devil of a time hiding them in the baths here at Blood Pledge Castle.

A devious, sleepy chuckle down below, tones both feminine and masculine.

"S-Shinou," Murata whispered harshly, feeling the glow of the spirit pulsing on their built-up and spent sexual energy. "Wake up right now, untie me, and get me something to wash off with. I'm getting sticky." He rocked his hips up, trying to emphasize his point. "Selfish bastard."

A snore.

A totally fake one.

"Do something," he demanded louder.

Murata truly struggled against his bonds this time, annoyed. And, then a long fingernail delicately stroked the hairs on the inside of his right leg, moving up at a gentle pace making him shiver.

_Oh, yeah, she had done that, too, just before… _

"_Something_…you asked?" She opened an eye and stared at the hostage. "The Wise and Honorable Shinou tells me that it's _my turn_ and I accept the duty with the greatest of pleasures."

Murata blanched. _Wait! What?Again? But I'm so tired! _"Her turn" while Shinou watched through her eyes, maybe learning something new? He babbled but nothing coherent came out except the pathetic word "Wha-?" as fingernails raked up against him. Stalking, she crawled up by her hands, leisurely sliding her nude body against Murata's, and stared ravenously down. "What I lack in breast size, I make up for in performance."

A hungry kiss followed, he fought against the ties in weak protest, and then he succumbed again.

Damn this young body.

Damn the urges.

His libido eagerly hummed into life, taking over.

And somewhere…Shinou laughed.

* * *

"Drake? What are you doing up there?" The guard tilted his head to the side, hoping to hear more than just the echoes of feet trudging up the spiral stone steps into the highest, eastern tower. "Drake? Oh, come on," he whined, hoping to get some kind of intelligent response. For, Guy wasn't the type of person who enjoyed too much foolishness these days.

"Man, I'm telling you that there's nothin' up there, okay? I didn't hear nothin' and it's probably just the wind anyways. So, come back down. Hear me?" Then, he folded his arms against his chest and shouted at the ceiling, hoping to be heard, "And, you'd better not be doing somethin' stupid like pissin' out of a top story window again. That's how we got this crappy guard duty in the first place. You were busy pissin' and Lord Weller caught you with your pants down!" The footsteps grew fainter and, finally, stopped. "And, how I got dragged into all of your mess, I still don't know." He tried scuffing the floor with his boot heel. "Just unlucky, I guess."

A gargled sound and soft thud.

"Eh?" Light brown eyes looked up. "What, the Hell, ya doing up there, Drake?" he huffed, tired of waiting and a bit concerned that the "thud" must have been something expensive the royals in the castle owned.

And if it was expensive, he'd claim no knowledge of it from here until Doomsday.

No more trouble. That's what he wanted.

"You're an ass. You know that's what you are, right?" Trudging up the steps was a pain. It wasn't like he was a young Mazoku anymore. No, but he didn't mind the late hours—keeping him from a nagging wife and teenage kids who were fond of telling him how much he didn't understand them. Yes, when they're little, Dad knows everything. When they're in their teens, Dad knows nothing.

And Drake? He was no better—acting like he was a teenager himself when, in fact, his Coming of Age was decades ago. He even had a little bit of gray forming at the temples now. So, there was no excuse for any of this nonsense.

The staircase continued to spiral and the steps were getting narrower and narrower still. He stomped sideways, moving on. And complaining. Yes, that part was satisfying because he was really going to let his cohort have it when he got to the top. Aching feet and aching back now to boot.

"Stupid prat," Guy grumbled, "making me climb all these stairs. Gotta watch you every minute…"

Light was spilling through the open doorway when he came to a stop and found the body oozing blood on the floor. "Bloody Hell," he breathed.

And then the oozing green-tipped sword plunged into him from the right.

A hand over his mouth and a voiceless scream.

* * *

Wolfram looked down at himself for the first time and he couldn't wait to take off the hideous waste of cloth he was wearing. Shinou had the absolute worst taste in clothes as far as Wolfram was concerned. What the man saw in such shamrock-green satin, black piping, seed beads, and white lace at the throat and wrists, he'd never know. And cut. A garment's cut had a lot to do with how it moved and breathed. But, Shinou loved the old styles and flash and ornament. The blond put a hand to his head briefly and wondered if he could just settle into either his favorite soft, pink nightie or the apricot one he kept as a back-up and simply drift off to dreamland.

"Wolfram?" Yuuri said, looking at him again with a slight frown between his eyes. Wolfram had just put his hand to his head. What was he thinking? Was he hurt about his reaction to Shinou and Murata's relationship?

In his memory, Yuuri could hear himself. His own voice: _But Wolf, it was an accidental engagement. We're both guys. You can't expect me to… I mean… My heart can't be told what to feel. It wouldn't be fair. …We're still friends, though, right?_

And, then, the wedding... All of the arguments for suddenly having it now or they'd risk losing Wolfram, his career, and he would have to go back in disgrace to Waltorana's castle—all a lie at the time to cover up the fact that assassins were expected to strike at the ceremony. Still, when the wedding idea had initially been presented to him—and Yuuri openly balked—Conrad had whole-heartedly agreed to having it. Maybe, now that he thought about it, it was his godfather's voice that stood out more than anyone's except, possibly, Gwendal's. Yes, Gwendal's annoyed, booming voice and a fist slamming on the table. And Wolfram barely had a word or two in. His face was hard and cold as he sat across the table from him on that day. White like porcelain. Wolfram was in on all of the planning meetings but left the details to others while he spent days watching and waiting for something Yuuri, at the time, didn't understand.

Or didn't want to.

_But that's just like him. Wolfram will sacrifice in a thousand ways that I'll never know about. And he'll do it for me…because I'm the king and because I'm "Yuuri."_

"Wolf…" With a slight hesitation, the double black took Wolfram's hand and held onto it. And green eyes looked to him almost suspiciously.

"Hold on, Wolf," he said, scooting closer. "We'll get through this. We'll solve the poison letters and the strange stuff going on inside the castle. We'll be good again." He chuckled to himself and added, "And, if we're lucky, we'll even convince Murata and Shinou to go back to their home…the temple. Happy and safe."

Wolfram looked at their clasped hands for a moment, almost forlornly, "And if I were a 'good' man…an honest man…" He sighed and turned his face away. "Truth be told… Eventually, Yuuri, you will let go of my hand. And, had I your best interests at heart, I would push you in the water…send you home…to your true home…a place where you would be safe and you would never know fear, unlike this place." He glanced around the room. Earth was so much better and brighter than here. A haven. "I should really let you go," he said to himself, "…for the best."

The blond felt a sharp chin cut into his shoulder, resting there. Green eyes darted in Yuuri's direction.

"You're doing it again, Wolf." The damp, raven haired-head rested on Wolfram's shoulder as he continued with, "You keep saying stuff I can't follow. I don't understand you sometimes." Yuuri pressed his body close—still trying to give comfort. "And, sometimes…that worries me."

A bitter laugh. "You think I'm strange?" Yes, he probably did. But Wolfram was lost half the time when it came to Yuuri and Earth and what "normal" was in that topsy-turvy world anyway.

Again. He'd try again. The double black laced fingers with Wolfram once more. But, this time, it was a natural thing to do—holding him here. To tie him to this place and this moment. "No," Yuuri said quietly, "I feel like I'm losing my connection to you. Like…you're fading from my sight."

"But, if it is what's best for you…?"

A rough shake of the head. "I'll decide what's best for me."

"And that is…?" The blond looked away. It was too hard meeting Yuuri's eyes. It was only when a strong hand took his chin, turned his head roughly to the side and black eyes with a determined spark met with his that Wolfram realized there was no avoiding it.

"And that is," he answered, "_you_."


	18. Chapter 18

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Chapter 18

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Author's note: This chapter is dedicated to Diorama and sakura-iris57. Thanks for all of your support when my computer crashed on me and I lost this chapter in the machine.

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* * *

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"Me? You can't mean…me," he said as the double black released the hold he had on him. Green eyes seemed legitimately surprised by the confession. He gestured to himself lamely. But, no. Surely, he must have heard wrong because Yuuri would never truly need him. He had Conrad, Gwendal, and Günter along with the rest of the inhabitants of the castle. No one, not even bossy Anissina, would deny him anything—even the smallest thing. Though, Yuuri would never place unreasonable demands on them, either. Wolfram knew that.

But...him?

No, certainly not. It was a lie; though, a pretty one to save his feelings. The reality of his situation had been drilled into him one too many times. Wolfram understood, even if Yuuri didn't, that such kindness was, in fact, a very cruel thing.

An earnest look, as hard as it was to do so. "Yuuri, I don't think that…"

The double black's eyes hardened, growing more determined—much like the day that he had lost his temper and slapped Wolfram's cheek hard, causing the unexpected engagement between them in the first place.

"Stop thinking."

"But, Yuuri…" he countered.

Hands gripped his shoulders, keeping Wolfram steady. A kiss. A peck on the lips which was both firm and resolute. No wavering or indecision as he had with his earlier attempt at hand holding. And it took Wolfram's breath away. Was this even real? The fire wielder fingered his lips in bewilderment. _How could he?_

Having that done, and with a nod of self-approval, the young king slid off the edge of the bed and padded over to the fire—distractedly tossing a log in along the way—and then redirected his path to the closet, his real goal, and rummaged around with the sound of sliding hangers on rods. It felt good having something to do after being so daring. "Let's get comfortable before we eat, okay?"

The pink nightie was tossed in Wolfram's direction and the blond caught it single-handedly. "Good one," Yuuri praised with a thumbs up and then went for his own favorite pajamas. "You know," he went on somewhat casually, 'I'm kind of glad you weren't a fan of those black pajamas." A slight blush followed as he picked the blue striped nightwear that he really wanted. "It seemed too fancy for me to wear. Dunno why Shinou ordered it made in the first place." But he could guess and didn't want to go there at all. He was not ready. In fact, neither of them could say they were even remotely near "that" point, married or not.

"I wouldn't worry about it," Wolfram returned, peeling the green outfit off of his body with great relief. He sighed openly, exposing each layer of skin bit by bit—freeing himself.

Looking over his shoulder, Yuuri had to smile at it all. He had grown weary this night of seeing Wolfram dressed up as, for all intents and purposes, a garish leprechaun. Not that that would necessarily be a _bad thing_. A strange fantasy popped up before Yuuri's eyes of a Japanese love hotel room in Tokyo with shamrock patterned sheets and Wolfram back in that skin tight outfit again, lying suggestively on the bed, shirt unbuttoned to the waist, offering him a bite of something devilishly sweet on a plate. Furry, green handcuffs were lying nearby. Yuuri blushed and shook the image out of his head. He had just had a truly hard-core (for him) fantasy and it made his heart beat harder. And, for the moment, his "heart" was all he was willing to admit to.

"Something the matter?" Wolfram asked curiously, seeing Yuuri spacing out and then shaking his head hard for no legitimate reason.

"Oh? Uh…no, really." The double black put his hand behind his head and laughed unconvincingly. "Just…uh…" He looked around the room and spotted the food. "Oi, you hungry?" he asked, diverting attention to a subject he was more comfortable with as he buttoned up his pajama top. Yuuri lifted one of the domed silver covers and peered inside. He took out two rolls, tossing one to Wolfram who easily caught it. "These are so-o- good," Yuuri munched happily, coming over to the bed. Wolfram nodded, pinched off large tufts of the roll, and began to nibble.

"Yes, they are good," the blond agreed and then looked down at himself. Had he gained weight? Wolfram began to wonder what exactly Shinou had been feeding him. Well, whatever it was, he would start avoiding the rich foods and go back to the simple fare that he preferred. A lean, healthy body was necessary if he was going to protect Yuuri as duty demanded—an absolute must for as long as this lasted between them.

Pushing his feet against petal-covered sheets, Wolfram scooted his body back and leaned against the headboard, picking at more of the roll. Yuuri, then, did likewise. Again, sitting shoulder to shoulder, taking big bites of his roll. They ate in companionable silence for a moment. And then, "Wolf?" he munched and the blond tried not to chastise Yuuri for talking with his mouth full. "I…uh…" How to phrase it? Maybe, it would be best to just come out and say it. He had the blond's full attention. "I'd like for us to try to get closer. I mean…_really_ try…and not just because we're married." The look in Wolfram's direction was wide-eyed and hopeful. "You'd be okay with that, right?"

Yuuri thought he saw something in Wolfram's expression that seemed, for the briefest second, to encourage him. A kind of longing. But, then, doubt clouded his features and a strange sadness followed. But who could blame Wolfram? The fire wielder had tried so hard over the years that getting what he'd wanted now, so easily and without effort, seemed too good to be true or a cruel trick being played by the gods. Soon enough, everything would be taken away. _This always ends_. Green eyes said that once more. But Yuuri couldn't understand the language, the words, or even why the look came when the request seemed so natural. After all, as he said, they were married. He felt confused but determined to hold onto Wolfram and to keep him talking, to keep him here—hold them together—in ways that he _did_ understand and was emotionally ready for.

Even if it made him seem a fool…

"Dessert!" Yuuri said with much more enthusiasm than the scene called for, traipsing back to the food trays and peering under another domed silver cover with a slight wiggly-dance.

It was cute and Yuuri's firm, round derriere was a sight to be seen.

The blond intentionally diverted his gaze. "You're as bad as Greta," Wolfram chuckled under his breath, taking in the last of his roll to focus on something else besides Yuuri's body. "Always finding the quickest path to confections."

"Eh? Really? I thought that sounded more like something you'd love to do." He was still poking around, not bothering to look behind him. "Then again, I guess she actually does take after me, huh?" There was a tinny echo of his laugh coming from the open food cover immediately in front of him.

This was taking too long. "You know," Wolfram started as a sigh, "if you like, we can eat at the table over there." Not that he was particularly hungry. The blond motioned to the table uselessly as Yuuri, quite clumsily, started serving up dessert for two.

The double black glanced to the side, noting the plate of food that Shinou had served up for him and made a mental note not to touch it—ever. There was something absolutely wrong about it—like cheating on your lover or something. Well, in his case, it would be more like "husband." Still, his heart told him "no" and he was more than willing to obey that feeling.

"Come on, Wolf. Eating in bed is more fun," the double black smacked, putting the strawberry-covered tip end of a finger in his mouth and sucking slightly. Enjoying it.

Wolfram swallowed thickly at that image. The things Yuuri could do to him without even realizing! _He's really too innocent and_, he thought_, it would be a sin to take that away. Once innocence is gone, it's gone. I can't be so self-centered._

"Here we go!" Yuuuri said, handing over a slice of white frosting-covered strawberry cake with sugared rosette flowers and plump, juicy berries balanced on top. "And your dessert spork."

He eyed the dessert. _Well, so much for my resolution to eat simpler foods._ With both hands, Wolfram graciously took what was offered and found Yuuri back at his side, eating with a very self-satisfied expression on his face.

Every other bite, the double black would hum dreamily with his mouth full of sweetness, making Wolfram fight with himself to keep from biting his lower lip in frustration.

Another half-moan.

And another…

The spork scraped the plate, digging in for the next bite.

"You do that a lot," the blond finally noted, taking a modest bite of cake into his mouth and rolling it on his tongue.

'Hm? What?" The double black cocked his head. There was a dab of frosting on his nose.

"You make…" _Somewhat erotic noises…_ He scratched his cheek a little awkwardly and went on, phrasing delicately, "_…noises_…when you eat something you really, really like." Wolfram smirked slightly. "And you've got something on your face." The blond reached over and gently dabbed the frosting away from the tip end of Yuuri's nose.

Green eyes met black for a second and then they both turned away.

Nervously, Yuuri recalled Murata saying the same thing to him the evening they shared kisses in the garden to throw off the gardener who had discovered them. Murata had said, "Moan like you mean it…" and reminded him of how he acted when eating cheeseburgers from that restaurant back on Earth. The whole thing was embarrassing and he made a mental note not to make such loud "noises" for ridiculous reasons anymore.

"S-Sorry about that… I…uh…" Well, he couldn't exactly say that he didn't know. But, now, he really _DID KNOW_ and had no intention of making a bigger ass of himself—especially if it embarrassed Wolfram along the way. And it certainly had to in order for him to bring it up. Yet, there were two sides to it. Wasn't there? The fire wielder had always done his best to make sure his fiancé did the proper thing and got respect. Once they were married, however, Wolfram had done a great deal to distance himself—to step away and let a young king make his own mistakes. At least, that was Yuuri's guess. Too many things had happened between them for Wolfram to speak up anymore. Yuuri could see that now.

_He must have been lonely for a long time._

"Anyway," Wolfram said with a shrug and then put his half-eaten plate on the nightstand, "it doesn't really matter and I think I've had enough of this day." But, instead of pulling back the sheets and settling in, Wolfram slowly walked around the bed, went to the long curtain and slid it aside, revealing the balcony door. Unlocking the wooden door and moving it aside, he gazed at the darkening sky, arms wrapped around himself—hugging. "I suppose you could say…I'm waiting for tomorrow.

He blinked at that. "Really? Well I suppose so," the double black agreed uncomfortably, putting aside his empty plate.

"No, Yuuri. You don't understand." He turned from the night air to face him, skin pale and blond hair aglow from candlelight. "I want to see the sun again. It has been so long…so very very long…"

"Wolf," Yuuri said gently, coming forward and placing a comforting arm around Wolfram's shoulders. "It's okay," he promised.

But promises never panned out, did they? Even his mother, as Demon Queen, didn't keep her promises. She simply made bigger, better ones and then bribed him with toys to forget about it. _Then again…_ He looked to Yuuri. _Yuuri's not like that, however…_

A gentle squeeze around the shoulders.

It would be so easy to give in—to simply relax into Yuuri's embrace and rest his head against the curve of a warm neck. But Wolfram felt the need to stand strong. To grow dependant on this feeling would not do either of them any good. This was especially true if he was to get his wish…to die and be guardian to Yuuri and the people he loved most in the world.

_To be loved…_ Even if it wasn't him…and never would be.

The arm curled a bit more around Wolfram's neck, slowly reeling him in.

And a nuzzle cheek to cheek.

Affection from Yuuri? Was he that worried about him?

"Stop looking so surprised," the double black whispered in his ear. "We're married. We can do this."

He almost believed.

_No… It's pity. That's what this is. It has to be._

Wolfram shrugged the arm off and said quietly, "I've really wanted only one thing in my whole life...to see you become a good king. And I've done that. The rest of the things that I thought I wanted…" He took a step away from him, edge of the gown tossed to and fro by the breeze—a wing like flapping sound. "…Those things were selfish. But, I promise, I won't be that way again. And I'll stay by your side for as long as you need me…and not a day longer than that."

A solemn promise. A vow. Just between them…

The double black gently shut the door to the balcony and straightened the curtain. "You're doing it again."

"What?"

"Disappearing," he complained, taking up the fire wielder's hand and leading him back to the bed. Yuuri pulled away the sheets, fluffed off the last of the irritating rose petals, and made a gesture for him to get in. Obediently, Wolfram did so and noticed Yuuri getting in on his usual side. Tucking them in, Yuuri rolled over in Wolfram's direction and muffled the words, "Scoot back here. I've changed my mind about something."

With a bit of curiosity, Wolfram did as Yuuri asked, easing further into the bed, closer to where Yuuri was resting. A moment later, one arm was draped over his waist and the double black's head rested next to his. "I think part of us getting closer," he reasoned, "is us sleeping closer from now on." Yuuri pushed himself up on an elbow and gave a somewhat playful, owlish smile down to see if his bedmate would comply. "Got a problem with that?"

"No… Not really," the blond responded quietly. He snapped his fingers and the scented candles in the room extinguished themselves, leaving red burning wicks in the darkness with only the glow of the fireplace remaining.

"Good," Yuuri said, resting himself back down, next to the blond—warming him if he could because the sheets felt almost icy. "Goodnight, Wolf. When you wake up tomorrow, you'll see the sun for what seems like the first time in a long time." He readjusted the covers, making them cocooned together. Just perfect for them. And, later, a thin smile came to his lips as Wolfram fell asleep and Yuuri watched over him into the night once more.

_Give me a chance, Wolfram._

_Just give me a chance…_

_Even if I don't deserve it._

* * *

Murata knew he was dreaming.

His body felt heavy and wouldn't obey a single command. But, why fight it? He'd been through this before—many times.

Without hope of stopping himself, he was drawn into the dusty room. His spirit was floating, hovering. There was an eerie sound about him like the rush of wind and snowfall at night.

The place where he was standing in was a room in Blood Pledge Castle, clearly. There was a grand tapestry in red and black on the opposite wall with two suits of armor, armed with bright swords, positioned on either side of the right woven edge of it. To his immediate right, lined up against the wall, there were three carved high backed chairs made probably five hundred years ago, by Murata's best guess. That tacky style was so distinctive that no one since then even bothered to copy it. Not to mention such chairs were so uncomfortable to sit in that they were called "penance chairs" because naughty children had to sit in them as punishment for wrong doings. (He also guessed that Wolfram von Bielefeld had never spent a single minute in one. And, with that, he wanted to chuckle.) There was the somewhat blurred shape of a small table and leafy-shaped colors perched atop…impossible to see clearly even when he tried. He could also see something crumpled there, too, on the floor—black, dark, and impossible to make out.

On the left side, again his head turning all on its own, there were four large, well-worn bookcases with a black sconce bolted to the wall in between the second and third cases, white candle wax slowly falling down in light splatters—the edge of a shoe embossed in the wax.

Again, his head turned and Murata found himself losing patience. He wasn't a doll to be played with.

In the center of the room stood a modest wooden table that could only seat six people. A light dust covered it. Murata focused on a circle shimmering with green hued threads on the stone floor. The glowing circle gained texture. Gradually appearing next to the table was a round, hand-woven area rug which seemed out of place. A familiar lined shape formed and filled out, too, adding dimension as it went. Not surprisingly at all to Murata was the apparition standing on the faded green and rust colored wool rug. It was Shinou, his cape thrown over his shoulder as usual. But, this time, he was not showing his typical, arrogant smile. Not at all.

Mentally, Murata frowned at this. What was going on? Usually, in dreams, Shinou would either taunt him about something nonsensical going on in his personal life or he would simply come out with what the topic was about.

Words. Where were the words?

The sage took in the room again, scanning with his eyes only. He knew it. It was a meeting room at the far end of the castle that they used with dignitaries who were lower ranking or who had little to offer politically but they'd spare the time, for appearance's sake, to see what the matter was. From his recollection, Lord von Christ spent more time in that room than he did.

Shinou's eyes flashed in annoyance and Murata was almost taken aback by it. He was sending a message, summoning him. Fine, then. But, Murata knew he was all tied up at the moment and in bed with…

Murata awoke and bolted upright in bed.

Alone.

Rubbing his wrists—the feeling being so good—the sage let his head fall back and he stared groggily at the ceiling. He'd certainly been through a lot. Not that everything was bad, mind you. His body was certainly calm and relaxed with the exception of the wrists and some strain in his arms. But did Shinou really have to wake him up now? At this hour?

"Mornings come too early," he grumbled as he shoved away the pile of blankets clumsily and summoned the strength to swing his legs over the side of the mattress.

The belt that had fastened him to the bed was nowhere to be seen. The young woman's clothes were gone, too. In fact, other than the tray which still held the pot of cold herb tea and stale spice cake, there was no sign she had ever been there.

A pulse. There was a heavy feeling that Murata couldn't shake—a feeling that his name was being called wordlessly. "Shinou, you are a total and complete prat," he groaned as he looked for his clothes, mind still in a fog. He kicked away the ones he wore yesterday—the clothes still busy wrinkling themselves up on the floor. He did, however, manage to find his glasses and put them on, the room suddenly coming into focus. "You're always like this, Shinou," he gritted and then got a good whiff of himself. His pits and a squiddly smell on his body turned his stomach. Thank the gods he hadn't eaten. But there was no time for that or to even take a bath. So, instead, he opened a drawer in his bedside table, found some of his cologne from Earth, splashed a little on, and proceeded to locate clothes for the day. Clean clothes on a grimy body. He wanted to cringe at that but it couldn't be helped.

The Japanese in him liked bathing. He wanted a bath, shampoo, soap… To be clean…

Again, the pulse…and his name…

"Okay! Fine! I'm coming…" he said, running his fingers through his hair followed by the words "…you bastard…won't even let me sleep in after all of that or even brush my hair…"

Once more and insistent…

"What more do you want from me, Shinou?" he grumbled, putting his shoes on. "I can't exactly fly. Just be happy that I know where the room is." And, with that, he shut the door and locked it up tight.

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* * *

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The call to Murata continued off and on, louder and softer, as he made his way for the meeting room. And he couldn't help but ponder the situation in greater detail with each step—now that he was relatively "awake," if he could even call it that. The sage, at this point, had come to the conclusion that Shinou didn't just _want_ him. He probably _needed_ him. A good thing or a bad thing? It was impossible to tell at this point.

The young sage walked briskly down the hallway, lost in his own thoughts at first, until he noticed that he was passing Lady Cheri's "Dom Dom," Conrad, and Gwendal as he did so. He gave a bright smile and a reassuring nod to them, hoping they'd continue with their quiet conversation and not bother to ask him to join in. And, much to his good fortune, off he went. Once he turned the corner, however, he broke into a run.

It was better not to take chances. Gwendal had given him "The Eye," (as Yuuri had nicknamed it) while he was passing and it was best to make himself scarce.

Murata entered a hallway with twelve doors on each side—tall, wooden with ornate iron hinges, imposing. The forth door on the left. "This is the place, I think…" Murata reached out a hand to open the door, trying not to appear as aggravated as he truly was. He didn't know what could be in there, so it was best to fall back into his "sage" persona.

Before his fingers could grasp the metal, the door opened all on its own with a deep groan. "Okay, Shinou," he complained while smoothing his jacket down in a mature fashion, "what is it…?"

The girl with the light brown bobbed hair—the one from last night—stood on the round rug, lavender eyes shining with tears.

Murata could feel his heart beating faster with the overpowering smell in the room. It was one he knew well—as fate would have it. Once, in another lifetime, he was escaping a battlefield near his war torn village along with a stream of other refugees. He held his oldest child's face to his chest so he couldn't see, but the boy kept complaining he smelled "rotting cabbage."

Only, it wasn't cabbage.

Death. It was the smell of death.

The sage's sharp eyes scanned the room and, in the far right corner, he spied two bodies wearing guard uniforms. Without a doubt, they had been dead for some time. Long smears of blood stains were on the floor—which were evident from dragging them there—but there were no pools of blood to be seen. "Rigamortis had set in, too, before they were brought here," he mumbled to himself, scratching his chin. "So, the black 'crumpled' thing I saw in my dream…"

"Were the dead," said a voice that was both male and female, both Shinou and the woman.

The sage sighed at the tones that would make most ordinary people bolt from fright from just hearing them said together. Maybe, he had truly lived too long and endured too many lifetimes. He'd simply grown immune to the strange and unsettling things in this world. Well, no. That wasn't exactly true. It did get to him. And his way of dealing with them was by feeling annoyance—an emotion he could easily express toward the selfish Original King his fate was chained to. Everyone else in the country, for the most part, saw the mask of Shin Makoku's Great Sage.

It was easier that way—sorting this existence into simple boxes, categories.

"Shinou," Murata said to the woman and, taking a step, the ghostly Original King's features stood out from the side of his host like conjoined twins at the hip. The man's arms were folded against his chest with irritation and he frowned at the woman and then Murata.

"It took you long enough to get here," Shinou complained with the brunette woman sobbing quietly with a hand over her mouth. The blond king sliced his host a look. He was used to surrounding himself with two types of people: those for business and those for pleasure. Not that he expected great bravery from the young lady he had been inhabiting, but the tears were getting rather tiresome. Some part of Shinou longed for the bravery of Rufus. And, then, he chastised himself somewhat. While he'd received great loyalty and love from her, he did not return such feelings as she deserved. Maybe, this was divine punishment.

Another smothered sob and Shinou's mouth became a strained, thin line.

"So, let me guess," Murata said, approaching the pair and taking in the room again. "You felt bloodlust, a sudden absence of life force, and ended up in this place." He pushed his glasses up on his nose with a finger. "But, why couldn't you get here in time? Could your host not make it? Or were you _delayed_?" Murata hoped his hint on "delayed" was something along the lines of getting dressed. Although, really, it was so vague that it could have been taken a variety of ways. And some part of him liked that.

The Original King shook his head with a sour expression, his way of redirecting the subject to something more important. "Someone has been able to have their run of the castle by hiding their aura." And, yes, such an ability would pose a problem if not dealt with right away. And, after that statement, his tone turned somewhat haughty—much like the "Shinou" of old. "Well, actually, I can feel it if I am very close to the person and if I know what I am _looking for_." And he seemed to have an exact, secretive definition of "looking for" which irritated the sage all over again.

Murata walked forward indifferently and then gestured to Shinou's host. "So, if you already know everything, why did you make her cry…oh, _Great Shinou_?" Yes, it was a dig at him and the young woman wiped her face with the heel of her hand. Murata knew that he was involving her in one of their "disagreements" but he was still bitter about a lot of things Shinou had been doing lately. Plus, as a conscious host, she might be privy to a lot of information he'd rather have locked away. Still, she was a pathetic thing at the moment—trying to be strong and having Shinou, of all people, still linked to her.

_No answer, hmmm?_ Murata Ken put his hands in his pockets. Fine. Back to business, then. "Look, never mind what I asked. Let's get some help with the bodies and start an investigation. I passed Lord Weller and Lord von Voltaire in the hallway just minutes ago." He turned to leave while saying, "This way. Follow me."

The Original King looked down at his feet with an unreadable expression. "You are going to be the death of me."

Something within broke. At once, Murata's head shot up. He threw a dark look at Shinou with a threatening fire in his eyes. His aura blackened and deepened, spiraling from him. The young lady gasped "no" but meant "_monster_" and took a frightened half step back with Shinou suddenly grabbing her around the waist to keep her still. To keep them together.

"Remember what I told you, my dear," he said to her in exactly the same way a tutor would take with an impossibly stupid young child and got an immediate, tearful murmur of submission. "And don't worry about the Great Sage. As you can see for yourself, he does have a temper but only vents it in my direction…" He stroked her short hair soothingly, "…because I deserve it. We have a history together, you see."

While still comforting the girl, the blond Original King made a short, sweeping motion with his hand and Murata's dark aura faded away. And, as usual, Shinou didn't give it a second thought. They had done this so often.

The toe of a shoe tapped the round carpet and The Original King explained, "What I was referring to a moment ago, my sage…before you got so _testy_…was what I'm standing on." The blond puckered a pout, but there was a sharpness in his blue eyes that contrasted with it. Dealing with these two had become very taxing indeed. "Try looking under, but be very careful when you do."

"Fine," the sage said, pulling himself together. Mild curiosity was piqued for the moment, and it was easier for him to focus on that after what now felt like an embarrassing flash of temper from an ancient wound.

He knelt down onto the stone floor. With finger and thumb, he took the edge of the rug and flipped it back partially. Painted on the floor was a magic circle in green with an herbal scent rising up. Some of the symbols resembled twisted daggers and cruel arrows. Other characters were written in Old High Ancient Mazoku from the Golden Age. The line forming the circular edge, the perimeter, put up an extraordinary barrier—strong and jagged. "Ouch!" Murata Ken waved a pained hand and was glad to see, upon inspection, no torn skin or blood. But it certainly felt like it.

"This is…"

"A trap, most certainly…as is, in all likelihood, the design of the entire room," Shinou agreed. "And the green paint, you will find, is the same poisoned ink from the letters."

Murata nodded vaguely and said, "So, our assassin knows that you're working on this, too, huh?"

A blond shake of the head "no" and a small quirked grin, "Not everyone believes in the divine intervention of the Great Shinou." Yes, he'd use his sage's sarcastic words from earlier. "But, to be on the safe side, this was probably put here to deal with an astral being."

"But a room set up just for this?" It seemed absurd, a total waste of effort.

Shinou gestured down. "Look again. The ink is poison and the magic circle is not just a barrier—a thing to either keep something from getting out or something from coming in. This is a trap. And, just by passing through this spot from one edge of the carpet to the other, it can tear souls." He cocked his head to the side and said, "And not a pleasant sensation, I can assure you. I'm sure your hand still stings, too."

The young lady started to sob again and, this time, Shinou shook a finger at her to behave.

His black eyes widened. "To tear…? Seriously?"

Shinou forced himself to stand a little straighter, making the woman do so, too. "Well, it isn't strong enough to do me any harm. I am quite resilient, as you know well. However…" Blue eyes turned to the lady next to him.

"She wouldn't do so well," Murata reasoned out loud, now seeing the ancient spirit's point. Every living being had a spark of The Divine in varying degrees of strength. Now, couple that with Shinou's spirit and the girl's in the same body… This definitely posed a problem. "So, that's why you called me here…to clean up your mess…literally." Gingerly, he pulled up more of the rug and quickly flipped it back, trying to get a better look at what he was in for without his hand getting hurt again.

Shinou gave a level stare down at the kneeling sage. That last comment was taking things a bit too far even though having him in that particular kneeling position was an ego-stroking sight indeed. "More than that, my _dear sage_," he returned "let me elaborate. I can easily step out of this poorly cast circle, but my host's soul would be shredded if I did…beyond repair."

The young woman hung her head, emotionally drained and exhausted. Her whole existence was in the hands of the two men arguing before her—honored though they may be.

Murata blinked up at Shinou's words.

To push his point home, The Original King went on, "As in… no longer able to go to the Heavenly Plane or to be returned to the karmic cycle… Everything that she ever was or has ever learned…_lost_." Blue eyes grew hard. "Complete annihilation."

The words were spoken distinctly.

The young sage understood now and decided to drop his verbal tug-of-war with Shinou. To rip a soul this young from a body was one thing. It would, most likely, return to the cycle of reincarnation. This magic circle, however, was an abomination that went against nature and The Order. "So, this person…whoever it is…has decided to employ dark magic, huh?" A danger. This person was a danger to them all.

A shrug from the blond king. "I believe 'moronic magic' would be a more accurate term." He wrinkled his nose at the circle he was standing on. "The penmanship is abysmal. Don't you think? Is this person even literate? …Or, maybe, copying from some sort of old scroll or tome took place. Scribes, lazy ones, often make such errors which are passed down in the next edition." Arrogantly, he flipped more of his cape over his shoulder.

"Sure, downplay it all you want." He pushed his glasses up with the tip of a finger again. "Still, this situation is hazardous. I'd better deal with this on my own at first. So, what can I…?" Murata's eyes were drawn to the rotting bodies once more and, then, his eyes turned to a small side table near the three high backed penance chairs. There was a vase of colorful flowers there. He'd use the water and an edge of the tapestry to clean off the floor being careful not to get the green ink on himself in the process. "This will just have to do," he reasoned, making his way toward the flowers.

His foot snapped a hair-thin thread. Where did it come from?

Blue eyes flashed, pupils slitted. "_Stop!_" Shinou demanded in a thunderous tone as twin arrows shot out from the right corner of the tapestry, seemingly coming from the gap created between the two suits of armor.

Murata's body was falling backwards, pulled by an unnatural force as the arrows thudded into the opposite wall, shaking and trembling down the shafts.

Sprawled out on the floor, the sage saw the wall and his jaw dropped.

"Well, I did warn you," The Original King said with charm masking his relief, "…I did say that this room was probably set with traps."

"You're being difficult," Murata said, picking himself up off the floor and dusting himself down. He was trying to be nonchalant about it, but he could feel his face had drained of color.

"And you're not being very observant if you think that an unused room would have a vase of fresh flowers handy." The blond quirked a smile.

The thudding of footsteps—many of them. Down the hall, they could hear the jumbled voices of castle guards: "I heard shouts and arguments coming from over here" and "Didn't someone just yell 'stop' or something…?" while a voice, most certainly Conrad Weller's said, "I saw The Great Sage going this way and I should have recalled that this wing wasn't in use at the moment…"

A seemingly disinterested look. Fun time was over. "Well, it seems that help with the bodies is coming after all," the ancient spirit noted dryly as he stepped into the young lady's frame once more, taking over his host with a brightening of her eyes. "And it is a good thing because I need you to get to work. I want this floor scrubbed at once so that I can depart." He tussled his host's bobbed hair, making it bounce. "It's rather tiring standing around here. The ennui is just devastating."

"Anything else?" Murata sighed in exasperation.

"Well, yes," and a quick smirk followed. "Just make sure," he went on in her soft voice, "that they know we are flies near a web."

"Great analogy considering that magic circle 'web' was meant for someone in spirit form like you."

A laugh.

"Then, I suppose you should ignore the fact that the meeting table is covered in arsenic and rhubarb leaf powder, the bookcases are teetering with the slightest touch making them likely to fall on you, and sniffing the bouquet will cause instant death."

Murata put a hand to his aching head. "And the suits of armor?"

"Will cut you in half."


	19. Chapter 19

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Chapter 19

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The familiar sound of rings sliding back on the rod.

"Hnnn," he groaned to himself. It seemed bright for some reason and Wolfram wrinkled his nose at it. The blond rolled over onto his stomach and buried his face in his pillow for a moment, hoping to block everything out until…

"Wolf? Wanna get up now?" It was Yuuri's voice and the sound of the curtain being drawn back all the way this time. "Wolf? Oi, Wolf?"

An annoyed "Wha-?" and the blond lifted his head wearily, trying to clear the early morning drowsiness from his mind. Then, his attention turned to the open balcony with the sunlight streaming in from it. It was a beautiful sight—sunlight. Maybe, a little bit too bright right now, but still… The fire wielder could feel his element pulse and rise within him.

It felt so good.

So very good…

"W-Wolf? Are you okay?" He had reverted to "だいじょうぶ in Japanese before he caught himself and switched to the much more formal Mazoku "Are you fine?' which he thought would please his bedmate better.

The blond sat up in the bed a little more, rubbing his blond locks grumpily. "Oh, that's nice. Are you going to start ending your sentences with 'zee mas' next?" Wolfram quipped with a dark, sarcastic thread running through the tone of it. Apparently, the ultra formal touch in sentence structure had the opposite effect, making Yuuri withdraw a little at Wolfram's reaction.

"No, I just said something in Japanese and I know that it bothers you sometimes…like I'm using a secret code with Murata or Conrad."

A bitter chuckle as Wolfram tiredly pushed away the covers and got out of the bed. "Honestly, I'm legitimately surprised that you finally realized that after all this time." With a seemingly disinterested shrug, he added, "It's no big deal. And not that I care… But, in future, keep in mind that the highly formal tongue is never used with close friends or relatives." He stifled a yawn. "Try it with Greta and I'll throttle you, though."

"Oh," was all he could say in return. Maybe, he really should have paid better attention in Günter's lessons.

"Like I said, don't worry."

Again, this was not going in Yuuri's direction. He offered Wolfram his small wooden bucket of bath items with a fluffy towel neatly folded on top. "I thought we'd take a bath and then have breakfast with everyone. You haven't seen Greta in awhile. Wouldn't that be fun?"

The light in Wolfram's eyes brightened at the thought of Greta. He loved her so very much.

He accepted the small wooden bucket and asked, "Why aren't you out jogging around the castle with Conrad? You do it every single day. And it's not raining out, so…?"

A warm smile from Yuuri made the blond look away for a second from discomfort. Why did he have to do that? It was the exact same smile that everyone got. There was nothing special about it. But, for some reason, it made forgiving Yuuri of every single fault so easy.

"Well, Wolf, I got a message from Conrad saying there's some sort of 'clean-up' in one of the rooms in the castle that he has to oversee."

"Clean-up? Are you sure you got that right?"

"Yeah. Strange, huh?"

"Yes," the blond agreed, "because that's really not his job." The blond yawned into his palm followed by a slow, cat-like stretch with arms over his head. "We'll have to ask him about it at breakfast, I guess."

Yuuri took two hangers from the closet—one belonging to him and one being Wolfram's. By this point, Wolfram had managed to put his white bathrobe on and had picked up his wooden bucket with his free hand. Then, he reached out a hand for the clothes his king happened to be carrying. "Give them to me."

"Why?" He seemed confused. Wasn't he being nice right now? Offering to do the carrying? Wasn't it the gentlemanly thing to do?

"The Maou of Shin Makoku doesn't tote clothes," the fire wielder stated flatly, taking the black and blue outfits and slinging them carelessly over his bent elbow. Then Wolfram frowned slightly and straightened out an unruly piece of black hair that was sticking out at an odd angle.

_He's looking out for me again, isn't he?_ And Yuuri grinned on the inside at that. A step closer. A step, maybe, taking them back to where they were before everything had gone wrong. He'd missed it and his heart felt lighter, so much better.

They made their way to the door with Wolfram determined to be a half step behind. And Yuuri noticed it. The formality, the "rules" were back—for how long, he didn't know. But this was too little, not nearly enough. Yuuri wanted more, needed more. And if a banal conversation about clothes kept that bond between them going, so be it.

"But why?"

"Because it makes you look bad," the fire wielder grumbled as he opened the bedroom door and tried to ignore the two guards posted on either side of it in the hallway. These were Gwendal's men, not the run-of-the-mill castle guards, which seemed strange. He would definitely ask his brother about that—and soon—because something _smelled_ wrong now. Not to mention, Wolfram's political instincts told him to stay alert. And he never ignored that feeling. Courtly life had, at least, taught him that much.

They continued on their way with Yuuri in a much better mood for some inexplicable reason—which also annoyed Wolfram. Those jaunty, almost tapping steps being his first clue.

"Then, I guess," Yuuri said in forced seriousness, "I shouldn't wash your back today, either…huh?"

Snickering in the hallway. _The guards!_

Immediately, Wolfram turned an adorable shade of pink and he glanced towards his feet, forcing them to move onward at an even pace. "You _never_ wash my back!" he hissed, but his heated words carried and he knew it. More snickering and Wolfram gritted his teeth to the point that his jaw ached. This wasn't fair! Not at all! "Do you like teasing me? Do you?" the blond asked lowly but the tone clearly spoke of his mounting anger.

Yuuri fought a grin but put a palm up defensively. He didn't want to make Wolfram _that_mad but he was so cute right now: rosy face, body straight as a rod, arms clinched around his bath bucket, green eyes sparkling with ire, blond hair shining brightly. "Ummm…but you know…" Yuuri began, deciding to make peace after all.

"You like putting me in these…these _awkward positions_!" the blond stressed in a louder voice. He was incensed.

Yuuri stopped walking and made a reach for Wolfram's forearm. "Now, I wouldn't exactly put it like that." He drew him closer, hoping to lower the volume.

"Put it?" he fumed, turning to face Yuuri directly. "I'll gladly tell you where you can _put it_!"

More snickering from down the hall.

"Wolf, I'm not baiting you. What I'm trying to say is…"

"Well then," Wolfram interrupted with a fire blazing in his green eyes, "why don't we have a three way with the Great Sage in the Royal Baths while we're at it? Hmmm?"

No snickering this time.

Yuuri swallowed thickly at that.

"He's standing right behind me right now…isn't he?" Wolfram said flatly.

A nod. "Yeah."

* * *

"As much as the _invitation_ to have a bath with the two of you really intrigues me," Murata prattled on with a self-satisfied grin, "I've just had one. And, as you can see, my hair is still a bit damp."

Yuuri and Murata walked shoulder to shoulder while Wolfram, wanting the ground to suddenly open up and swallow him, followed silently behind.

Up ahead, Yuuri could vaguely make out Lady Cheri, her Dom-Dom, and Claus prattling on about something disinteresting. Günter and Gwendal seemed to be catching up to them, but, based on their body language and expressions, their conversation appeared to be whispered and much more intense. The double black wondered what it was all about. He guessed it was his advisor complaining about being left out of whatever was going on as of late. He could probably sense it somehow. And Günter hated being the odd man out.

Yuuri could certainly identify with that.

"If you are free, I have a few things I'd like to discuss with the two of you after breakfast," Murata went on, becoming more serious now as he eyed the people walking far ahead of them. "So, while you have your baths and they," the thumbed at them, "take their early morning tea, I will arrange for us to meet in Gwendal's office."

"Gwendal?" Wolfram raised an eyebrow to that. So, his suspicions were justified.

"Okay," Yuuri agreed, catching on to the fact that he would need to be briefed on something new. "And thanks for including me. Sometimes, it feels like I'm being left out even though I'm king and everything."

"Of course, you're king," Wolfram said with a hand resting on his hip. Yuuri was stating the obvious again and needed a little kick in the pants to get him back to his senses. The blond gave a brief, formal nod to Murata and opened the steamy door to the bath for Yuuri to enter. "And I will be there to keep an eye on the wimp," Wolfram added.

"Not a wimp," a voice echoed out the door at them.

"Oh?" The blond seemed to be unconvinced and stepped into the room with Murata watching the door close.

The sage took his glasses off, held them up to the light for inspection, and then proceeded to polished them with gentle strokes. Steam from the royal baths made them fog up and he wiped his glasses on his handkerchief as a group of the royal gardeners carried in tall, broadleaf lupines in blue ceramic pots. "If Lady Cheri wants these outside her quarters to 'brighten things up' then who are we to say differently?" the head gardener complained bitterly in a gravel-tone, legs stomping heavily. "But, I heard that she wants all of the royals to get these plants, too," whined another. "Oh Hell," complained the shortest of the bunch, legs scrambling to keep up with the rest, "our day will never end."

"Lady Cheri's at it again," Murata chuckled, tucking away the handkerchief when he noticed someone next to him.

"Too true. She's quite something."

That woman. Again!

"Shinou?" Murata almost growled. "You're still possessing her after all she's been through?"

A smirk and a boyish shrug. "She agreed to it. So, I just stayed."

"What?" Murata looked left and right before going on. "I'm sure she agreed to it. She's probably a little in love with you now that you've saved her from oblivion. But, you and I both know…"

A hand covered Murata's mouth, keeping him from finishing his thought.

"It is over. Drop the matter." Her eyes turned blue when the order was given and the sage decided that, maybe, it was the right thing to do—to keep this thoughts on this to himself. Besides, anyone could overhear and that would not be good at all.

And there really was such a thing as "too much truth."

"So, what are you up to now?" the sage asked, pushing his glasses up his nose with a finger. He decided that the next time he went to Earth, he would definitely get his glasses readjusted. The slippage was growing bothersome—almost as much as dealing with Shinou.

"Oh, I'm just out for a little fresh air."

A direct stare. "Try again, Shinou, and make it sound believable this time."

"Who me?" And the Original King laughed coyly behind a hand as two maids passed them in the hallway toting buckets and mops. The maids' eyes lingered on the pair for a moment. They were probably wondering why Shin Makoku's Great Sage was taking an interest in such a common girl. Then, they winked to each other and turned the corner.

Murata rolled his eyes and tried his best to stick to the topic. "Yeah…you."

A flouncy step in Murata's direction. "Well, speaking as the girl you ravished unmercifully…" It was followed by a finger caressing a pink lower lip as she leaned in. "And you never even bothered to ask my name…"

"Enough."

"Really?"

"Really." Murata waved her off saying, "Just get on with it." His face was starting to twitch with annoyance.

A sexy grin and head tilted cutely to the side. "What? Here and now?" Another laugh toying with the belt to her uniform. "Well, if you insist…"

Murata growled lowly as a warning, making Shinou accept the fact that his little "fun time" had passed. What was it with this generation? Teasing and a little "slap and tickle" seemed to be low on the list of priorities—not like how things were in his day. Shinou decided to explore the girl's memories later if he had time to learn more. He hated being out of fashion.

"Well, to be honest," Shinou explained with a spark of good humor, "I am investigating."

Murata eyed him suspiciously. "Investigating…what?"

"Ah, well…" A kiss was blown in the sage's direction as Shinou strolled off like a thespian on the stage. "Things… Things that come and go… Things that catch my notice…and disappear. Ask me to tea…and we shall see."

"First pestering and then bad poetry." Murata frowned, watching the perky woman blend in with a small crowd heading toward the west exit. _Shinou is following someone_, he thought, _and that someone can disappear. But for how long? Shinou can be really unrelenting when he wants to be. I'll just have to catch up with him after meeting Shibuya and von Bielefeld. There's no other option. _

He ran his hand through his damp hair again, trying to get the sides to dry faster.

More to do and never enough time.

A sage's work is never done.

* * *

The knife was placed down onto the desk and it shifted slightly, no longer being needed. After finishing the quill's tip, it was smoothly lowered down into a small inkpot filled with green ink. On the wrist was a bracelet that had a bloodstone jewel charm in the shape of a hand. It rocked back and forth with the slightest move of the arm.

A sheet of delicately-cut parchment found its way onto the desk and the quill began to make its marks:

_My darling Wolfram,_

_Please forgive this lover for not writing you sooner. The fault is entirely mine. If you will recall, I did make a solemn promise to you. I said that __when the end approaches, you will be in my arms—away from the existence that has only handed to you duty-bound misery and bitter loneliness._

_A better life awaits you. But, my dearest, I am certain that you have many questions that I can answer for you. And I shall._

_Please meet me in your art studio at sunset this evening. I beg of you, please, come—and come alone._

_It is my heart's desire to be alone with you._

_Do this for us._

_I have done so much to be with you._

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* * *

Wolfram had taken an unusually long amount of time to get ready for his bath. His movements seemed sluggish and he sighed with annoyance more than once while disrobing. But, in actuality, the fire wielder was really trying to assess the situation—looking here and there, secretly, to make sure that they were, indeed, alone as he had hoped they would be.

No soldiers stationed anywhere.

Nothing out of place.

Nobody.

Yuuri, judging by a glance, seemed to be waiting—sitting on a wooden stool, splashing water on himself to get clean before soaking in the oversized pool that everyone called "The Royal Bath."

"What's up, Wolf?" Yuuri asked almost distractedly as he fished around in his wooden bucket for his shampoo. "You're usually the first person to get ready to have a good soak. But, today, you're taking forever."

An echoed "humph" was his answer and the white robe was folded and placed neatly on a chair along with the other garments.

"Well, I'm just saying it because it's true." The double black poured some shampoo in his palm and popped back the top to his Earth shampoo—the kind that smelled like vanilla and green tea—Wolfram's favorite. With one hand, he lathered up his hair a little.

The slapping of bare feet on the damp floor. He was on his way over. Good. The double black was about to offer the shampoo bottle when he looked past his shoulder and, just in time, saw Wolfram stumble forward with an "Ow!" Dropping everything, the double black shot forward, raised his arms, and tried to catch Wolfram. But, the two of them fell over with Wolfram on bottom.

"Ouch!" Yuuri cried, his hand being crushed between Wolfram's blond head and the wet tile floor.

The blond breathed heavily for a moment, getting his bearings. Not to mention, there was the weight of the body squarely on top of him. "Why, in the Seven Hells, did you do that?" Wolfram griped. "You could break your hand that way."

The double black lowered his head. His scented hair was dripping warm, little rills of water from his face down onto Wolfram's. "Well, it didn't help that this is the hand with my wedding ring on it. So, of course, it would hurt! But I thought your stubborn skull was worth saving!"

_Your… ring, huh? _Wolfram's expression became sincere. "I see…"

"And," Yuuri went on, "you could at least thank me for saving you."

Green eyes grew hard at that. Was that "thanks" a demand? Well, it was time for a little reality check. "By lying on top of me? Not to mention, your towel fell off along the way. So…" Wolfram gave a modest hip thrust to emphasize his point.

Bare skin!

For a brief moment, Yuuri had a mental image of the two of them lying together. Their lower halves had been censored with the picture of happy elephants with their trunks up. Yuuri's eyes widened at that. And he moved back and gave Wolfram a hand up into a seated position. "Oh! Uh… I didn't mean to. I was only thinking of you."

He had his arms open as a gesture he hoped would be taken as nonaggressive. And, in a way, it was.

"Yes, well…" The blond hesitantly wrapped his arms around Yuuri's neck for a brief hug, thinking that was what was being offered. "Thank you. I appreciate the thought." Wolfram let go when he noticed blood near his foot on the floor. "I stepped on something sharp on the floor and then, the next moment, I realized I had slipped on the floor and was starting to fall." Wolfram accepted Yuuri's hand and limped his way for the stool he usually sat at to prepare for his bath. "It feels like glass is in my foot."

Yuuri took up his own white towel, tied it around his waist, and then grabbed a stool—dragging it closer to where Wolfram was sitting. "Maybe, somebody broke something in here." And, then, it clicked. Yuuri remembered that he'd dropped a Mazoku shampoo bottle the previous week and shattered it. There were shards of glass and shampoo everywhere. The maids were nice enough about cleaning everything up. But, apparently, they'd missed a piece. From now on, he decided, he would make sure that only plastic Earth bottles—and never anything made from glass, crystal, or pottery—would be allowed in.

"Let me help you with that, Wolf."

The blond folded his arms against his chest. "Throw me a towel first. If not, you won't like the view you get when you look up."

"Stop being difficult," Yuuri said, reaching over and fetching Wolfram's towel from the bath bucket that had been flipped onto its side from the chaos between them. "As you once reminded me, we've both seen each other naked more than once…in this place especially." The white towel was handed over nicely, in Japanese fashion, with two hands and was accepted by the blond looking a lot less stubborn. In fact, the closeness made him appear a little shy. Yuuri told him, "It is fine between us" and the words felt real.

He scratched the side of his face with an index finger as he started to concentrate on the foot. Yuuri reached down, took the ankle, and propped the foot on his thigh—twisting his head to the side to see. "Gee…I need more light…"

A brightness blossomed with a hushed "huff" and the double black squinted to the side. Wolfram had conjured a ball of light no bigger than a baseball. It seemed so strange to have one just hovering at his shoulder. On the other hand, it was also odd to have Wolfram wielding his element without anger or shouting going on between them. The blond was just sitting there—waiting.

_To have and to hold,_

_In sickness and in health—_

_Isn't that how the promise goes?_

_Did Wolfram even know that?_

But they could start again, he decided. Wolfram had shown him that today. Better—better than it was before because they could rely on each other this time in brand new ways.

"Thanks. I can see now." He went back to inspect the foot, wiping away blood with a finger and Wolfram inhaled sharply. "That's it. That's the place," he told him.

"Wait," Yuuri said in confusion, "I thought it went in here." He squeezed hard to pop it out and Wolfram yelped out a very loud and distinct "No!"

"No?"

"That's right! I said 'no' because it's not there. Don't go there. Go lower like before."

"Oh…over _here_."

"Not, there…you wimp! What were you thinking? Ow! Ow!" He wriggled, unable to stop himself and then leaned back on the stool, gripping the legs with his hands. "Ow! Are you even listening to me?"

"Oh, here it is!" Yuuri said, proud of himself, "Now, I see!"

"Y-e-s! Finally!"

Anissina walked by the Royal Baths with Greta in tow. "_Men_," the inventor gritted out as though the word were a curse word. The little princess pointed a finger at the door. Then, she opened her mouth to ask a question and was cut off with a saccharine-sweet, "You'll understand someday" and an undertoned "Thank goodness today's not that day."

And, with that, the two went off in search of breakfast.


	20. Chapter 20

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Chapter 20

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"Yuuri?"

"Hmm?"

Wolfram walked by the double black's side, continuing on down the hallway, but noted that all eyes were upon them—lingering. Some were more obvious than others, and it was starting to annoy him. The blond stopped with a frown as yet another person passed by. He put a hand on his hip and sliced a disgruntled look. "Have you noticed that that's the third person who has passed us with an odd sort of…smirk?"

"Really?" Yuuri said, turning to see the person Wolfram was referring to. From looking at the retreating back, it appeared to be one of the castle guards in full uniform and the sandy hair was cropped manageably short. "Gee, Wolf… I hadn't noticed anything unusual."

_You wouldn't._ Wolfram huffed a little at that, arms folded against his chest. "Well, it's a good thing you have me around today, isn't it? I can keep watch."

Now, it was the double black's turn to smirk. "A good thing," he agreed and shyly took Wolfram's hand in his. At first, it was simply finger to finger and then the hands smoothly slid with palms touching.

_Wha-?_ Green eyes shot to their linked hands in astonishment. It seemed so bizarre that Yuuri would do such a thing out in the open. Alone was another matter entirely. There had to be a logical explanation for it. There had to be. And, then it dawned on him that Shinou must have taken some liberties to make them appear to be more like a real couple in public.

_Of course, that would be the logical step. And he must have twisted Yuuri's arm hard to get him to comply with this. _

"Now, it is just a matter of keeping up appearances," the blond mumbled, hardening his heart if he could.

"What did you say, Wolf?"

The blond blinked at him, now back in the real world. "It's… nothing."

It was always nothing.

Yuuri glanced at Wolfram. He was disappointed to see that the blond's expression was no different than if they were talking about the weather. But, something was, in fact, unusual. Green eyes continued to scan each individual as he or she made their way along the hallway. And his attention strayed to places that were blind corners or were filled with dancing shadow from the sconces. This was not out of jealousy—not at all.

He tugged Yuuri along and walked with the mien of a warrior and defender. And it made the double black consider his situation again.

_It's not that he hates me holding his hand… He's just distracted…in a way, watching everyone closely, _Yuuri decided_. He's thinking about me again…more "me" than "himself." But it is day and we're in public. He needs to relax._

The wedding band on Wolfram's hand glinted and Yuuri's heart felt lighter.

Yuuri swung their hands back and forth a little, just trying to be happy together if he could. He would have whistled, but he wasn't that good at it. Wolfram was, though. And that thought made him smile on the inside, too. Wolfram was music and sunshine and passion. He was devotion and loyalty and strength. Only the jealousy had been a turn-off, not the determination to be recognized as a fiancé, Yuuri realized more and more with each step. It was a strange thing to come to terms with once his heart explained it to him—as he walked side by side with the one person he could truly be himself with.

And the struggle with himself. There was that also—who he was and who he thought he was. They were different people entirely.

And, now that Wolfram was back, and this new "Wolf" was by his side, he had not seen much of that infamous green-eyed monster in him. Quite the opposite, in fact. And that, for some unknown reason in Yuuri, was disconcerting. It made him want to stay even closer by Wolfram's side—whether to see that jealousy come out again or to understand its absence, he didn't know.

As though walking in slow motion, a hulking, human stranger in black leather armor with a studded breast plate, back plate, and shoulder pads approached them with a grim expression. Wolfram could feel the strong battle aura radiate and sucked in a breath.

_Danger_

There was hate: a soul-less, amoral, if not cold chill about the man. And he would do absolutely anything to anyone if need be. The blond could feel it from where he was. And instinct told him to steel himself.

Wolfram applied pressure to Yuuri's hand without looking at him. He was quickly sizing up the pale-skinned human armed with tan and black leather arm bracers and the cruelest single hand sword he'd seen in a long time. In Wolfram's mind, he was already making three moves in his head and waiting for the first blow to strike metal against metal when Yozak came around the corner with Günter and a short, scraggly-haired man wearing long purple robes that practically swallowed him.

"Ah, if we had known you were coming a week early, ambassador, we would have given you and your bodyguard much better accommodations," the white caped advisor apologized while giving Yuuri a friendly little wave. Then, back to business. "As it is, we…"

They went on their way and Wolfram sighed openly this time. It was only a bodyguard. Still, the bodyguard seemed as though he would have been a tough challenge and a combination of sword strategy and fire wielding would have been his safest bet under the circumstances. For, he knew Yuuri all too well. And there was no way he'd leave him on his own if the order "Run!" was bellowed at him.

Even if it was for Yuuri's own good…

_The wimp._

"Are you okay, Wolf?" Yuuri asked with concern, not entirely sure what just happened. Sure, the tall stranger seemed a bit intimidating. But, he had not done anything to cause such anxiety—not really. And the man had a legitimate reason for being in the castle. Not to mention, all he did was walk like a truck driver.

"Promise me one thing," Wolfram said quietly, not meeting eyes with Yuuri.

"What?"

"I'm still being targeted. Don't forget that. Remember the green poison letters? Remember everything we've been through so far?" The blond was serious now—deadly serious. "If the worst really does come…I want you to forget me and run."

The young king stopped, looking darkly at him. "You know I can't do that."

"You won't be abandoning me," he assured, shaking his head to clear it better. "I'm telling you to go. So, make an oath to me…promise."

"_Wolf_." Yuuri gave the name a threatening tone.

"A king can't be replaced as easily as a…" What word could he honestly use to describe himself? What were they really to each other? "…A companion."

"You're my consort, not just a companion," Yuuri replied in an undertone that was getting angrier and angrier by the second. "And, if you want to know," he hissed to keep from being overheard, "this new _attitude_ of yours is even more irritating than all of that jealousy I've had to put up with for years and years and years!"

"Attitude?"

"Yeah! What other name would you call it?"

Okay, now he was getting loud and Wolfram turned away from him.

"Well," Wolfram returned with a furious blush on his face, "you were my fiancé and you had a total disregard for our engagement…pushing me away time and time again… Nothing I _did_ would satisfy you…nothing I _was_ would satisfy you." He put a hand on his hip, knuckles white. "I can't change my soul for you. I can't change my gender for you. I can't change my feelings for you." He drew near Yuuri's face—as close as he dared without losing his grip on his feelings entirely. "All I can do is be your attendant, serve you well, and, if Fate allows, die in your place. There could be no greater purpose."

_Die?_ The double black darkened. "Stop being an idiot!" he fumed. His voice echoed this time and neither one of them cared.

"Then stop demanding the impossible!" Wolfram shot back. "And learn, for once, what 'normal' is around here."

"Normal? What is _normal_ in this place anyway?" Yuuri stood his ground on that point. "And as for 'impossible,' if you really think about it, it's not impossible to ask you to do _reasonable_ things that aren't inherently selfish and self-destructive." In frustration, he gestured to the walls and ceiling as though they'd back him up.

Someone in the background muttered, "Summon Lord Weller. Those two have gotten into it again." It was followed by a grunt of approval that sounded like it came from another guard.

"How can you say that, Yuuri?" he growled between clinched teeth. This was so humiliating.

"Because it's true!"

"It isn't!" But this time Wolfram's eyes spoke injury. He wasn't being selfish or self-destructive this time. And for Yuuri to declare that his precious sacrifices _were_ cut him deeply.

"You've got to be kidding me!" Yuuri wanted to rip his hair out. Wolfram was being impossible again and he couldn't stand it. And, maybe, he squeezed the blond's narrow hand a little harder than he intended in the first place. But it was just to get his attention. At least, that was what he'd told himself.

There was a flinch and a pained scowl like he'd never seen before.

Yuuri's face colored at that. "S-So, just stop this and quit being an idiot…a big, fat idiot," he tried to use as justification.

"Right," Wolfram barked angrily, pulling his hand away, breaking them apart, "and I love you, too."

He stormed off a few paces but his brisk walk turned into an all out run very quickly. Wolfram couldn't get away from the double black fast enough, weaving past people with a mortified look as he went.

Wolfram was disappearing into the crowd and there was a deathly quiet followed by a low, gossipy murmuring: "Even the maou says he's still a brat…" and "…Not good enough to die for our king, eh?" and "Well, I can see why."

They were saying that about Wolfram—openly.

_No! Everyone, you don't understand!_

And it didn't help matters that Gwendal's voice, somewhere in the background, registered in Yuuri's mind. Apparently, he was trying to shoo people back to their work.

That pained expression directed at him—only at him.

"_And I love you, too."_

Yuuri stood in the hallway with his head bowed and eyes cast in shadow. Wolfram had finally done it—openly said the words that he had both feared and, in secret, had grown fond of. But it had not been done the right way or in the right place. But Wolfram had felt that way, too, once—on the day he'd received his wedding ring. And, in that sense, they were now both equals.

Horribly, horribly alike.

And everyone knew.

Everyone saw.

In the background, Conrad put a hand over his eyes in exasperation. What was he going to do with these two? He had no idea.

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* * *

Shinou, enjoying the sunshine outside but still on the trail, suddenly halted a step and glanced over his shoulder at the castle. He could feel the energy. He could feel the commotion going on inside. Turmoil.

"Maybe, it was a mistake to leave my descendant's body so soon," he mumbled, scratching his chin. "I sense that Wolfram and Yuuri Heika are at odds again. When will they ever learn?" And, then, with a boyish shrug, he went back to his task.

The living never truly realized just how fragile life was. Instead of fighting, Shinou could think of better ways of spending a pleasant morning—ways that involved his favorite sage and this sexy female body he was borrowing. A warm, feminine glow reached Shinou and he appreciated her approval.

Then again, he had work to do as well with no lounging around today.

_Best get back to it…_

The trail he'd been following had been strong but talking to Murata—and toying with him (which had been great fun)—made him a bit behind in his work. Now, he could sense the residual trails of his "prey." Yes, that was how Shinou saw the person. And the crafty prey had been everywhere, it seemed.

Shinou blinked and blue eyes came to the forefront with slitted pupils. The residual "trails" were red like the bloodstone and curvy, meandering—floating at wrist height.

"So," Shinou said to himself, "you have been using the bracelet to hide yourself for quite awhile now." Then, he looked closer, narrowing his eyes. Not all were the exact same color. "Not just you…or von Christ, it seems…"

He strolled on, inspecting with a casual air.

"I'd say Greta's bracelet, which had no effect because it wasn't made for her, left a very light trail here, but there are…others..." A smile twitched onto his face. "So, let's see where your nest is. Because I want to find it…where you're hiding out…and destroy it…for the safety of Blood Pledge Castle." And with a skip-step to the east, he murmured, "And should I find you there…?"

A devious, feminine chuckle bubbled forth.

Shinou found that thought most delicious.

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* * *

After being guided into the dining hall by Conrad, Yuuri had to endure a very tense and quiet breakfast with Gwendal (who was still fuming from all of the previous commotion), Anissina, Greta, Günter, and Claus.

Conrad was taking his seat when Greta asked "Where is Lady Cheri and Dom-Dom? Should we wait for them?" And to that, Gwendal coughed uncomfortably into his fist and then called over his shoulder for the staff to begin serving breakfast. Doors opened at the far end of the room and plates of warm food were served on the table with pitchers of fresh juice. The smell of bacon, eggs, fruit, fresh bread, and warm butter filled the room—adding a cozy atmosphere. But, Yuuri didn't focus on any of that. The sharp sound of sporks scraping plates filled his ears soon enough and Yuuri ate his food without even remembering whatever it was he was eating.

Near the end of the meal, Murata joined them and looked around, very briefly, and noted with some dissatisfaction that Wolfram was absent. His glasses flashed momentarily, and he helped himself to some juice once he sat down.

"Shibuya," he said quietly, "after this, I'd like to see you and von Bielefeld in the rose garden for some tea. I've arranged everything."

The double black king gave a brief nod to that, but his distracted feelings still remained with him. What Murata had to say couldn't be as important as having a very public display with Wolfram and then having him run off like that. And Conrad, once again, had no choice but to come to the rescue of his king which made him the "favorite" and Wolfram even less so.

"So much for beginning again," he sighed and got a curious glance from Murata. Yuuri shook his head and went back to his juice—downing it a little too fast. Yuuri made a "glugging" sound that Günter clearly found distressing, but said nothing in front of Claus.

Embarrassing a king over bad table manners was uncouth.

"Problem?" Murata inquired innocently, though his sources were good and his own ears even better. So, he knew.

"Not now," Yuuri said, dismissing the subject with his cup poised to his lips.

Gwendal dabbed his clean lips and stood from his chair—signaling to the room that the meal with over. Greta had already made plans with Anissina to go off on an inventing adventure and she gave a girlish kiss on the cheek to Yuuri to cheer him up. Günter and Claus were talking about "herbs" again and that part of the conversation faded away as they wandered off.

"Oh, and I'd like to have Sir Weller join us, too," Murata said in a friendly way, looking at the tall, second son of Lady Cheri. Three servants carrying away dirty plates mumbled about starting to prep for lunch when the door closed and Murata added discretely, "It's about the guards and the room set up as a trap."

Conrad's eyes grew hard and his face serious. He gave a nod. Yuuri needed to be informed.

"Just curious," the sage said and pretended to scan the room with his dark eyes, "where is von Bielefeld? It would be best if we had him in on this discussion."

Yuuri flashed a guilty look and that was all that Murata needed. It confirmed the truth—the double black king had screwed up and he knew it. No naivety there to be used as an excuse.

"Well, we may need to have this conversation without him then." He pushed up his glasses with his middle finger. _But I wouldn't advise it. No…not at all._

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* * *

It was a beautiful late morning stroll. Lady Cheri, on her Dom-Dom's arm, walked with pride past the large, wooden castle doors which had been left open wide for foot soldiers and higher ranking servants to pass through. Women in commoner's clothing passed to and fro. But their dresses were nothing compared to Lady Cheri's. Her new dress with the plunging neckline was a big hit with her new beau. He liked the deep blue color and, best of all, he liked the view. After all, she was big in all the right places.

A strong, muscular arm found its way around her waist. It made her feel like a girl again. She could almost forget the fact that all three of her sons were grown men now—even though Wolfram still acted like a child occasionally.

Several gardeners with plants in blue pots trudged towards the back entrance of the castle—the one they usually used. They seemed to be struggling with their burdens, but no matter. They could see Lady Cheri from a distance and made pathetic efforts to lug and bow at the same time.

It made her giggle and Dom-Dom loved her laugh. She got a hug.

"What beautiful plants," Lady Cheri murmured in admiration. "It makes me wonder who ordered them from the greenhouse." She was using her sexy voice now and he liked that a lot.

"My dear," Dom-Dom purred into her ear, "I thought nothing decorative or floral was designed at this castle without your approval." His lips drew close. "You are, after all, very…_talented_."

She smiled demurely. She had such practice at it. "I agree. When I find the time, I will definitely look into it." She traced a well sculpted fingernail against his cheek. "But, for now, I have my designs set on one person…"

"Anyone I know?" he teased.

"Intimately."

Further away, the leather booted scuffing and trotting sounds continued.

"Ugh! These pots are getting heavier and heavier to lug," one gardener complained out of earshot, blowing a puff of air to keep a broadleaf lupine from tickling his nose again. The plants ordered for delivery were getting to be a big bother.

"Too true!" complained another. "And I think my strength is going to give out soon."

"Break one of these," warned the master gardener, "and I'll have your hide! Hear me? Lady Cheri only orders the very best. So, you will not be able to pay for replacements with your salaries. Understood?"

"Yes, sir!" they said in chorus, struggling more with each step. And they did their best to avoid the pretty woman who had come into their path. Her eyes flashed briefly and the blue faded away.

Shinou backed himself into a flowering shrub and watched with a growing, feline smile. "My…my…my… What pretty bracelets you are wearing… All of you."

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* * *

Yuuri didn't stay for the tea. He'd managed to sit long enough to listen to Murata and Conrad report on the deaths of the soldiers and the room set up as a deathtrap. Between that and the poisoned letters, things were spinning out of control even with Shinou's supposed "help" and he desperately wanted Wolfram by his side again.

Yes, they'd fight and there might be some fire involved. But, Yuuri was determined to find Wolfram—his "consort" as he reminded Conrad when the man offered to help look for Wolfram together. Yes, and then they'd make amends with just the two of them involved.

That was the way to do it. That was how he'd seen his parents make up and that was, in Yuuri's opinion, the right way to do things. Besides, "two" was company and "three" was just plain awkward.

He could see that now.

Taking Wolfram's viewpoint and feelings into account was his mission. And, unlike this morning, he was determined not to fail again. And he'd failed so many times recently.

"Now, where would he be…?"

There was no luck with the kitchen, library, or Gwendal's office. Yes, he did peek in and, just as quickly, duck away when Gwendal felt his presence by the door. The double black could feel his anxiety growing as he passed room after room, clean but empty and no Wolfram in sight. _Those guards were dead and we've had prisoners in our own dungeon die, too. I want Wolf to be safe. He has to be!_ Another room, another place—all were empty. Yuuri was on his way to the stables just to see for himself that Wolfram's white steed was still there when he heard a familiar voice booming from the direction of the greenhouse.

"What do you mean I can't go inside?"

"That's Wolfram," Yuuri groaned with relief, putting a hand to his aching head as he went. Well, at the very least, the fire wielder wasn't doing more than yelling at this point. It would be best to face the music now and he did so, avoiding a small, half-human gardener who just happened to be going in the same direction only not at the same speed that he was.

Yuuri gave a short "gomen" and corrected himself in Mazoku as quickly as he could. Then again, thanks to him, "gomen" was now the popular slang for "sorry" in his country. The power of a king was truly amazing.

"Wolf?" Yuuri said, coming closer to the greenhouse and saw Wolfram still standing by the front entrance of the place—blocked by three gardeners in overalls. "Ummm… Is there a problem?"

Wolfram, apparently, was still mad from before. He didn't meet eyes with Yuuri and seemed to be unhappy just coming across him again this soon without calming down.

"_Yes_, there is a problem. Did you order me banned from the greenhouse?" He shifted his weight onto one leg, striking a gallant but imposing pose.

The double black gave him a perplexed look. "Are you kidding me? I had no idea you'd want to come here in the first place. It's not like I'm psychic or something."

Wolfram bit his lower lip before speaking. "Actually, Shin Makoku's maou can… But, that's another subject entirely. I'm just talking about this place." He thumbed at the greenhouse. "I got tired of reading in the library and decided to visit the new flowers my mother was cross-pollinating in here. Instead, I can't get in because of these…_people_…" The beautiful Mazoku's face frowned dangerously at them. "And I'd like a good explanation as to why."

"Deliveries." The voice came from the young gardener approaching Yuuri and Wolfram took an instinctive, protective step forward.

"Deliveries of what…?" The blond asked, eyeing him.

Yuuri felt a bit of embarrassment. It was that gardener again who had caught him in the "kissing incident" with Murata and he prayed that Wolfram would never find out about it. Plus, there was no need to grill a poor gardener in such a fashion. The double black started to sweatdrop. "Come on, Wolf… Be nice."

Green eyes narrowed. "Then, I'd like an answer…" Teeth clinched with "please." The strained, counterfeit smile didn't help, either. It gave the blond's face a ruthless edge.

Yuuri almost hung his head at that.

The master gardener circled around from the back of the greenhouse, hat in hand. "So sorry to interrupt, but Lady Cheri ordered us to deliver potted plants to all of the nobles in the castle. We have been trying to make deliveries ever since."

"See?" Yuuri turned to Wolfram, a grin on his face. "There was no need to worry."

Eyes shot to him in frustration. "I wasn't _worried_, Yuuri. I was…"

"And that means that you're free right now."

"Eh?" Eyebrows narrowed in confusion. "Well, I suppose…"

"So, we'll be seeing you all later," Yuuri said pleasantly, taking Wolfram's hand in his and walking briskly away as a pretty woman, some distance away, watched—laughing behind her hand.

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* * *

Yuuri gave the huge, broadleaf lupine stationed smartly by the bedroom door a strange look and then tugged Wolfram in behind him. The gardeners weren't lying about the deliveries. And those plants definitely stood out! They also carried a scent like grape soda which lingered on the air. The two new guards who were posted on either side of the door were rubbing their eyes. Yuuri could understand why.

The door closed with a muffled whump and he let go of the blond's hand, but stood in such a way that he was blocking the door they'd just come through. Seeing this, Wolfram made a fist at his side. He knew what would happen next. He was going to have to speak first, say something ridiculous which would end up as an apology of some sort, and eventually, hate the "let's be friends and make up" outcome which was always the result.

To fight the cycle or to accept it…? Which would it be? But Wolfram knew the answer and battling against it was folly.

Rather than endure the uncomfortable silence he was sure that was to be the prologue to it all, Wolfram started with "Yuuri, I…"

"I'm sorry!" Yuuri beat him to it. The words tumbled out and, on impulse, he wrapped his black-clad arms around Wolfram, pulling the fire wielder close. "I'm so…so sorry… I know you're still mad. You have to be."

"Yuuri…"

"I didn't mean for it to be like that…to make you look bad in front of everyone. I really am sorry."

An exhale. A soft one and, looking up, Wolfram's pained expression grew. "Sorry" and Yuuri's sincere words aimed at him—only at him. Wolfram would forgive again, wouldn't he? Until the next time Yuuri did something stupid and then there would be the arguments and the anger. Yuuri, in all of his blindness would tear him apart with the truth and then, when it was all over, he'd paste what was left of Wolfram's heart together inexpertly—out of sympathy—waiting for the cycle to start again.

And again.

And again.

Worst of all, Wolfram would allow it. Love was cruel like that even though, in the past, they had promised themselves a different outcome.

"What am I to you?" he whispered, not even realizing that he'd said it aloud.

A slight chuckle from the double black—not from mirth, though, but it just came to him, bubbling up when Wolfram asked. "A strange question to ask, Wolfram." He rested his cheek on the fire wielder's shoulder. "I always thought you had the confidence and all the answers…especially about us." He hugged Wolfram a little tighter. "I guess, I'm guilty about leaving that kind of thing all up to you. Staying one minute…running away the next… But, back then, I knew, deep down, that you'd always be there. I suppose, that makes it my fault, too, huh? I'm not as mature as I think I am sometimes. "

A shake of the head. "You're young…and you're a king. You can do what you want…or even change your mind on a whim." The hopeless tone in Wolfram's voice hurt Yuuri and he now clung to Wolfram more than held him. What a disarray: of feelings, of time…of them.

"Being king is nothing if I hurt people." And some part of him wished that Wolfram would start pounding on him—hitting as hard as he could if that would set things to rights like it did when he played baseball. A fist to the face, a bloody nose, and then they could start to heal.

"I don't think you would intentionally. And, like I've told you before, I can handle anything because…well…it's me, isn't it?" He closed his eyes and spoke the words, "But, the truth is… We're just too different, you and I. I'm fire and you're water. I'm from here and you're from elsewhere." A thin smile came to him, remembering Yuuri accidentally slipping on his silver wedding band on the floor. Most appropriate, really—a trinket worthy of stepping on, not a promise of a new life. He made a fist again and could feel the wedding band on his hand. "I am regret and you are hope."

Gently, he pushed Yuuri away. Maybe, with this said, he could leave now. Maybe, Yuuri would finally have the courage to see reason and let him go.

"What?" Yuuri took a step forward instead, making Wolfram take a step back. "How are you regret?"

Now, Wolfram's expression changed, as though he had a secret that he was coveting—one only his and not to be shared. "We all have things we can't talk about, Yuuri. And, it's fine. In the end, it will all be fine."

_My regrets in this life will never touch you. So, I will never speak of them. And, my death will have meaning. It will not be a useless sacrifice even if you think so. I will guard you and yours as an angel. My final task by your side._

_One earned...unlike my title of "consort."_

Yuuri came closer again, and, like a dancer, Wolfram moved as he could.

"Which would be…what, exactly?"

"Let's just drop this." A shrug was added to it and Wolfram suddenly felt the edge of the bed bump into the back of his legs. He glanced at it, surprised that Yuuri had managed to maneuver him thus far. And then, before he understood what was happening, hands were pressing his shoulders down and he was tossed back onto the bed—Yuuri atop of him, straddling his hips and face glaring down.

He wanted answers.

"Wolf!"

The blond glared up defiantly and pushed himself up on his elbows. "How many times do we have to go through this? Each time, we almost change. We almost feel something. And, then, suddenly, we go back to the way we were." Tears were gathering in his eyes but he tried to mask them by gritting his teeth hard. Defiance disguises pain well enough.

"Wolf!" The double black's tone weighed heavily. "Well, I'm glad you've finally noticed that it is a 'we' thing between us, Wolf."

Still pinned down, Wolfram turned his head away. "You're trying too hard to be with me. You don't even see how much effort you're putting into us just being by each other's side." He made a half-hearted struggle to get up to get his point across. Any real tumbling on the bed could give Yuuri the wrong idea. And frightening him was the last thing the blond really wanted. Yuuri was such a wimp after all. "Before, I thought…_maybe_…but, really, for your own good…"

And it really would be for his own good as king.

Black eyes narrowed_. Wolfram is disappearing again._

Yuuri leaned down, his lips close to Wolfram's ear. "Don't even finish that thought," he warned dangerously. Then hands pushed the blond back onto the bed. The blond was lying flat and breathing hard.

Wolfram could feel Yuuri's warm hand touch his face, caress it, and gently turn it. "Look at me, Wolf. You're brave. So, look at me." A blond curl was toyed with, root to tip. "You said you'd stay by my side for as long as I needed you. Remember…?"

"Y-Yuuri, we've been here before." A crossroads: This place, between them, and too many false promises.

The double black leaned in and gazed down. "No, Wolf. No, we haven't." He took both of Wolfram's hands and laced fingers with them. "I have to do more than just tell you my feelings, don't I?" Yuuri tilted his head to the side. "I'm going to kiss you now."

"What?"

A nod. "I am."

Green eyes widened. "Please…don't."

_This can't be happening!_

Yuuri drew closer. "Why?" he breathed.

"Because I can't…"

_This is madness!_

"You can…consort…"

And Yuuri gave a long, lingering kiss while a single tear spilled from a green eye.


	21. Chapter 21

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Chapter 21

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Wolfram awoke to birdsong. He wasn't sure just how long he'd been dozing, but it also didn't matter to him very much. The memories were slowly piecing themselves back together, nonetheless, as he stretched his body a little, still feeling warm and comfortable.

A nuzzle.

"Hm?"

Sleepily, Wolfram turned his head to the right to see Yuuri lying next to him, curled up against his side contentedly, head on his shoulder. Both of them had their shirts off and Wolfram was still fuzzy about when that happened between them—somewhere between the kissing and the…

_Oh, yes… There was that._

Wolfram put a hand to his head, remembering Yuuri kissing him not at all clumsily in the beginning and with a sense of determination and confidence behind it. But the kisses that followed did seem rushed and his inexpert technique began to show soon enough. Wolfram considered stopping it, but his heart faltered with a feeble attempt to push the double black off of him, which Yuuri thoroughly enjoyed. Apparently, making his Wolf surrender was a thrill he had no issues taking advantage of. And, in the end, Wolfram consented and decided to teach Yuuri ways of kissing that would be pleasurable—from the gentle and comforting kind to something that would heighten passion and demand resolution to burning skin that was sensitive to the touch.

Apparently, Yuuri liked them all.

The blond looked down at his own pale chest. There were seven kiss marks that he could see peppering it. The first was on the left shoulder and Wolfram, at the time, raised a delicate eyebrow when he realized that Yuuri was more than capable of creating a love-bite there. A deeply jealous part of him demanded to know how Yuuri learned how to do it, but his mind flashed back to the hallway and Yuuri hissing at him venomously _"this new __attitude__ of yours is even more irritating than all of that jealousy I've had to put up with for years and years and years!" _

_Irritating_. His concerns—his fears—irritated Yuuri all this time. _I knew this, but…_

But those feelings were real, very real. Didn't they matter? Complaints and critiques, chasing Yuuri down hallways, giving advice, straightening his collar… Even if these ways were the only methods he knew of to convey his fidelity and affections, were they really so wrong…?

A deep, throaty hum.

Teeth were sinking in very delicately, making a second mark—this time, on his chest—when Wolfram instinctively took a breath, liking the feeling. He had to make a decision: to let the jealousy rip him apart or to simply let it all go. Yuuri wasn't thinking of anyone else right now, was he? Yuuri was only thinking of Wolfram—only "Wolf."

That was all.

More feelings, more sensations shared between them. Green eyes closed briefly as their bodies writhed against each other.

The blond took a trembling breath and carded his fingers through raven hair. Letting go of jealousy—of the fear of what had been or what could be—was so hard.

Another bite followed, harder than the others and Wolfram took in a sharper breath this time, chin pointed toward the bed's canopy. The blond could feel Yuuri's hands roaming this time, pulling away more of the shirt's material and making an effort to get rid of it entirely. And it didn't matter if the fabric was torn along the way, either, or so it seemed. For, the blond could hear the stitches popping and Yuuri was so carried away that he didn't bother to apologize. (Either that or he wasn't sorry in the first place.)

"Ahh…" he breathed, "…Yuuri, I…"

A throaty hum and another bite sinking in. Wolfram moaned openly this time, unable to hold back. Yuuri had discovered a sensitive place and his body had not been touched in so long like that.

Wolfram's mind drifted between pleasure and pain until Yuuri climbed up, kissed lips with a strange fervor and whispered, "Wolf, I'm at my limit." The blond's neck was being ravaged now—kissed and nipped purposefully, painfully.

"Eh?" Green eyes popped open. His mind snapped back instantly.

"I said," and Yuuri's voice was rough, harsh, "I'm at my limit." His breath caressed pale skin like a warm wave.

_R-i-g-h-t…_ Wolfram rolled his eyes at that, back to himself again. He sighed and scratched the side of his cheek casually. "Do you know how many men have said that line over the centuries?"

Yuuri sat up, straddling Wolfram's hips seductively, breathing hard, and face flushing pink. Black eyes were rich, taking him in with unmasked desire. "I'm telling the truth."

The consort gave a cool, direct stare. "Well, so am I." But he couldn't help having a small smile playing at the corner of his lips. This was a whole new side to the double black that he'd never seen before. "Historically, men have always used the 'I'm at my limit' line and, I promise you, none of them have ever died from having a 'blue day.'" He shrugged nonchalantly against the silk sheets. "So, welcome to manhood. You'll just have to learn to wait for the right time."

"But, this is…!"

"Not it," Wolfram finished for him.

Yuuri, astounded that Wolfram would say such a thing, opened his mouth to counter that argument only to have the blond pat the side of the bed next to him. "There's 'married' and then there's '_married_,' Yuuri. I've learned that much. I don't know where we are on that road, but I'd like to think we can continue on together… somehow…"

_For as long as it lasts._

Dark eyes still held passion in them and a hand wandered down toward the top button of Wolfram's trousers. "Are you…sure…?" Yuuri had always been so certain that Wolfram would jump at the chance to be with him intimately even if he didn't know exactly what he was doing. This was undoubtedly a surprise. And Wolfram staying his wandering hand was even more so.

A shake of the head "no" and a small smile as he patted the side of the bed next to him again. "No regrets…for you…"

Like a passionate lover, Yuuri leaned in and caressed Wolfram's cheek. "I don't have any…and won't…"

A thin, pleased smile came from the blond this time. "Maybe, there is hope for us after all. And to think I once believed 'hope' and 'love' were lies."

"Hope," Wolfram sighed now to himself as Yuuri snuggled closer to his side with one arm draped over—content with his life and the entire world, or so it seemed.

But "hope" was also a thing trapped in Pandora's Box. Wolfram turned his head to the left, rubbing sleep from his eye, when he spotted something that made him sick inside. Something that was waiting. On his nightstand was a letter addressed to him—scrawled in cruel, green ink.

It was starting again.

One last time.

Wolfram cringed and held Yuuri protectively against him, as though that would keep them safe.

"Damn."

* * *

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.

"Well, I did as you asked," Yozak chuckled into his mug of dark beer. "You said that I should keep an eye on your baby brother again and I did."

He grabbed a cracker off the plate and munched on it with a thin slice of smoked cheese balanced on top. Yozak always thought these two went great together. Leave the fancy wine for the upper classes. Beer and a few commonly good snacks were the stuff of life.

"Anything interesting?" Conrad asked benignly, but he was really fishing. And Yozak loved it when his captain fished.

"Oh, yes. Apparently, our young king finally caught up with his royal spouse outside of the greenhouse."

"The greenhouse?" Conrad put his mug down heavily and gave a serious look. "Don't tell me that they got into another argument."

Yozak picked up an almond, flipped it into the air, and caught it with his teeth—a trick that always won the guys over in the local pub. Conrad always tolerated it with a polite smile. But he, too, really liked the showmanship deep down. "No…" was preceded by a crunch. "In fact, quite the _opposite_ if you understand my meaning." Yozak's sky blue eyes drifted up toward the royal bedroom balcony.

"Seriously?" Conrad whispered in awe, following the spy's gaze. _It is beyond belief that they'd ever…this soon…go this far…if at all…_ He started to picture it in his mind and, just as quickly, he tried to force the explicit images away without wondering, _So, who is uke and who is seme? _But, somewhere in the back of his mind, the thought lingered.

"Most definitely," Yozak chuckled good-naturedly, cutting into his thoughts. I followed them there at a discrete distance, of course." He munched on another cracker. "And your brother, might I add, can be quite _vocal_. No mistaking it. I even found myself blushing at one point."

Another cracker. Another soft crunch.

Conrad paled and gulped his drink this time. Sure, he knew that Yuuri and his brother were married, technically speaking, but some part of himself wasn't prepared for that kind of report. There was such a thing as "too much truth."

The spy tried to appear modest. "I knew how you'd feel. So, at that point, I made the guards take a quick smoking break."

He looked into his drink pensively. "I see… Okay, well that is a bit of a relief. And anything that the guards had heard up to that point would certainly give credibility to reports that the king and his consort had consummated something, some way, somehow."

"Oh, and that's not all that's interesting around the castle."

Conrad gave an "Am-I-really-up-to-more-of-this?" kind of look and Yozak readjusted the chair he was sitting in to get more comfortable. This little slice of gossip would be fun, too. "I've noted that our Great Sage has been incredibly _hungry_ today. He had one tea with you and our young king. And, on my way here, I noted that he was having yet another tea with a very pretty lady that you've met before…" He took a quick sip of his beer and added, "Well, not just that but _Shinou_ seems to know her _very well_, too."

Conrad's face appeared to say _Oh, that one. Now, I get it._

Yozak buffed his nails against his chest and examined them expertly. "Now, my next decision is whether to keep myself occupied while avoiding those unattractive, stinky plants outside the Royal Bedroom—which are a total yawn, literally—or to see if you or Lord von Voltaire can think up another mission for me." Though, he wiggled his eyebrows at the "you" part and Conrad smiled somewhat shyly at that.

"A…_mission_? You always had a way with words," the captain murmured into his drink.

"Deep down, you know very well where my loyalties lie…and who I side with." There was a mixture of flirtation and seriousness in his tone. He drew closer with, "Just tell me what you need and I'll be anything you want."

They met eyes for a brief second across the table.

"Tonight at eight…your room?"

The spy eyed another crumb of cheese. "I'll be waiting."

* * *

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.

How long had that letter been waiting for him on the nightstand? Wolfram didn't know and he didn't want to hazard a guess but couldn't stop himself. Probably, it had been placed there before he'd come into the room with Yuuri—probably. It made him sick at heart to think that someone had been able to sneak in while they were sleeping in each other's arms. No, that wouldn't have been possible. He had the reflexes of a skilled warrior. So, it had to have happened before they'd come in.

He bit his lower lip hard.

_I hate this…_

Still, the letter waited for him. At first, he'd felt alarmed. Anyone under the circumstances would have. But, now, he realized, he had been called to a greater purpose. On the inside, his heart grew hard and cold. This was the beginning of the end, wasn't it? He, as an angel, would be born soon. And that made all of the pain worth it. But, then again, Yuuri was worth it. And this moment between them—somewhere between love and desire—not quite enough, but a moment shared—made it all worthwhile. For, he knew, in some small part of Yuuri's heart, Wolfram was wanted. What a comforting thing that was.

He could let go of this life now.

The blond looked at Yuuri, taking in his features one last time. He leaned down and kissed the double black on the brow—a soft, gentle feeling that made Yuuri scratch at the place the moment Wolfram's lips left it. But there was something amusing about that, too—so terribly true about their tug-of-war relationship.

Something so honest—

"Goodbye."

The bishonen gently untangled himself from his spouse's embrace, easing himself from the bed and swinging his legs over the edge.

Now that Yuuri's source of warmth was gone, he was slowly curling up in the bed with arms covering his shoulders. Wolfram leaned over, grabbed the edge of the blanket, and wrapped the double black in it. A whispered, "Thanks, Wolf" met his ears and Wolfram returned to his new task.

A callused hand from years of swordplay reached out and took the parchment letter, easily shattering the wax seal, pieces breaking off. The blond steeled himself before reading—determined to face whatever he had to in order to soldier on and, by extension, protect the innocent one who was still sleeping in the bed.

While reading, the blond mouthed the words "_Please meet me in your art studio at sunset this evening. I beg of you, please, come—and come alone._"His eyes lit up and there was a new strength flowing through Wolfram's heart. At long last, he was going to meet the person who had been causing him such misery. And it was time to put an end to this matter.

For his sake-

For Yuuri's sake-

And, by the look of things, sunset would only be an hour away. He had more than enough time to prepare.

With that, Wolfram stood from the bed, marched himself toward the glowing fireplace—balling up the letter as he went—and tossed the letter inside. Then, he went to the closet to retrieve a fresh shirt. This was a meeting he had no intention of missing. This was it.

* * *

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.

Fanning only made it worse. It was humid, sweaty, and his host's underarms were starting to reek. That got him a complaint that Shinou tried not to pay attention to. Women had the habit of wanting to stay dry under there and the Original King could have cared less. Back in his day, he was on the battlefield and went for weeks sometimes without bathing. What was a few hours? She needed to get over herself.

A pout from somewhere in the back of his mind.

Well, she could just get over that attitude, too. Time to get back to work.

"Hmmm," Shinou scratched his chin, "It feels like I was here not that long ago."

Murata pruned his lips before retorting, "'Not long ago, for you, has no meaning. And, yes, you were here before. Remember Lady Agnes?" Did the sage really need to say more? What The Original King did to the woman was…_annoying_. (Yes, that's how he decided he'd remember it.) Then again, she did deserve everything she got through "Shinou Justice" because the attempt on a king's life was an act beyond redemption. And, not only that, but Yuuri was his best friend in the world. Nothing and no one could replace him.

Five gardeners poked their faces through the bars, looking totally bewildered. Why were they there with the Great Sage and a very strange, but very pretty, young woman?

"Ummm…'scuse me…?" said the second, pressing his face to the rusty bars as close as he dared. "Why are we here, exactly?"

Murata fished five bracelets out of his pocket and dangled them impishly. "Because of these." He swung them around his index finger briefly and they made a metallic, chiming noise against each other.

"Never seen 'em before in my whole life." The man glanced left and right. "Guys, what say you?"

A general murmuring followed.

Murata smiled toothily. "I see… Well, I took this last one off of you just seconds before shutting you in there."

"You 'ave?"

"Yes."

"Don't believe it…"

Murata gave a shake of the head and turned back to Shinou. "This is tedious at best, but I think this is also the most effective and most discrete way of dealing with our pesky minions over there." He thumbed at them. "And, if we do this long enough, we just might find the original culprit. We'll just have to have you lure more gardeners away, one by one, with the hope of a 'kiss' and I'll deal with the rest." Murata pulled out a small bag of sleeping powder. The powder was handy in the beginning and it was handy now.

"Yes," Shinou agreed, shifting his tight shoulders left and right. "We need to find the offender…the original who started this whole mess," Shinou said, straightening his skirt and then wiping his lower lip with a thumb. That last young whelp of a gardener almost forced a kiss. It was a good thing that a swift kick to the "plumbs" could make a man keel over in a heartbeat.

Shinou liked that part best.

"Time to go," the blond king ordered, eyes straying up and through the wall.

"You sense another so soon? I thought the gardeners were everywhere…delivering Lady Cheri's potted plants."

Shinou went to the door and opened it, saying over his shoulder, "I'm much better at tracing their movements now. And, now that you mention it, there is something rather strange about those plants. They remind me of something…"

Murata's eyes narrowed. "Something?"

He pointed to the bag of sleeping powder that the sage was pocketing. The Original King explained, "Sleeping powder has a variety of ingredients and a very distinct smell…something not unlike those plants…"

Murata narrowed his eyes. "But plants take time to germinate, grow, and bloom!" Yes, it all made sense. "Is that why no one was allowed into the greenhouse?" Murata wondered out loud.

"Very likely."

The dark haired sage took larger steps to keep up with Shinou. "So, their base of operations is the greenhouse?"

"Even with the gardeners under control, it would still be too public to do the actual herbal alchemy. I would think that someplace out of the way would be easier."

"Or, portable," Murata mused, rubbing his chin in thought.

Shinou quirked a grin. "A portable lab? Only you would think of that."

On the opposite side of the castle, hands covered in earth-encrusted gardener's gloves pushed an armoire along on a rusty, old hand truck dolly. The front left wheel didn't roll with the others well, instead making a jaunty dance out of synchronicity with the other wheels. But there was no point in fixing it. It wouldn't be needed much longer anyway. But old things still had a function—in the short-term.

* * *

.

.

"W-Wolf?"

Yuuri shivered briefly as he rolled onto his back. The blanket had fallen from him, making his skin cool to the touch and waking him in the process. "Wolfram?" With no answer, the double black covered a yawn, sitting up fully in the bed now.

"Wolf?"

Nothing.

His first guess was that the blond had simply made a trip to the toilet. So, he waited—sitting cross-legged in the bed, ruffling his own black hair while recalling the myriad of kisses shared with his favorite bishonen. More. Yuuri wanted more between them. The scent of skin that smelled of summer and sunshine, a body hard and, yet, soft next to him. A voice that moaned pleasures and practically purred when touched the right way. Yuuri's body and soul craved these intimate touches just between them. But, for now, the silence was deafening.

"Wolf?"

But, when minutes passed and nothing, no Wolfram at all, he decided to check up on him.

"Wol-?" and then a "What?" as he stepped on something. Yuuri looked down at his feet and noticed that he'd trodden on a broken piece of hard, red wax. He picked it up, examining it between finger and thumb. "Strange," he murmured to himself. He looked down only to discover another piece, not quite so big, a few paces off. Yuuri followed it. And, again, there were others that were more like crumbs than pieces—all leading in the direction of the fireplace.

Yuuri flicked the final pieces with his big toe and muttered "weird." Then, his eyes caught something half burnt in the fireplace.

"A green ink letter!"

The double black reached in, careful not to burn his hand, and retrieved it. The letter had been balled-up and tossed into the far right side of the fireplace. Wolfram's name was still there as "Wolfr" with soot and black edges all around. Gingerly, Yuuri opened it—trying not to rip the paper and, at the same time, to avoid getting the poison ink on his hands.

In this burnt and ashy state, most of the letter didn't make much sense. Then again, they never really did so in the first place. Yuuri tried again, reading aloud, barely making out parts of sentences written in Mazoku script:

"_My darling _

_Please forgive this lover for not writing you sooner. The fault is entirely" _

Yuuri narrowed his eyes with resentment at the word "lover." Wolfram was not this person's lover and never would be.

"_A better life awaits you. But, my dearest, I am certain that you have many _

_Please meet me in your art studio at sunset this evening. I beg of you, please_

_It is my heart's desire to be alone with you."_

Yuuri gritted his teeth hard. That letter was so personal, so insulting. It hurt him—hurt them—on so many levels.

"Wolfram's art studio at sunset! That's where they're going to meet!"

He rammed his feet into his shoes angrily and tossed the useless, burnt letter down onto the carpet as he ran for the door, totally forgetting to put on a shirt. Modesty didn't matter anyway—not the kind of modesty that Wolfram preferred. This was important—being with Wolfram right now was important. They would face the worst and then, later, go back to working things out between them.

_Wait, Wolf! I'll be there in a minute. Let me stand by your side! I can't let you be alone with this person! I can't!_

Yuuri opened the door, smacking it into the wall with a "bang" and ran as quickly as he could through the hallway, passing both of his guards who were sleeping peacefully beside the potted plant outside his bedroom.

The double black didn't notice. And, even if he had, he wouldn't have cared.

.

.


	22. Chapter 22

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Chapter 22

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"Fortune knocks but once, but misfortune has much more patience."

~Anonymous

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The sound of keys jingling on a ring, metal sliding against metal. He squinted. Finding the right one was always a bother. Wolfram was either too excited to be there or he was busy dragging Yuuri behind him with a determined, not to mention aggravated, scowl on his face.

This night would be different, though.

With a twist of the wrist, the blond unlocked the door to his private art studio with his key and then pocketed the key ring with a jumbled, tinny "clink."

The door groaned open with the slightest touch. The room smelled of dust, bear-bee paint, and a tinge of mold coming from somewhere. He wrinkled his nose at it all. This was probably his fault, guarding his precious art studio and coveting his private time there with Yuuri. Maybe, he should have allowed the maids to tidy up occasionally.

_Maybe._

Wolfram, leaving the door wide behind him, walked slowly through the center of the room with his hand resting idly on the hilt of his trusty sword. The blond's booted footsteps dominated the room. A glance here and there…

_Nothing._

Wolfram opened the doors to the balcony, swinging them wide to let the breeze in. He'd get the studio's odors out soon enough. He'd certainly done it enough times in the past. Briefly, his eyes took in the first stars of the evening and the early setting of the moon. Tonight would be dark, no mistake about that.

Straightening himself up to his full height, Wolfram turned and faced the interior—knowing well where the sconces were on the wall and, with little effort, he lit them all just by making a brief pointing gesture to each one.

The natural light and stretching shadows were soon replaced by warm flickers of candlelight. But, dark shadows were rising, too, just at the base of each candle.

Now, with the room being lit, he could make everything out well. His favorite white smock and cute beret hung off of the hooks on the wall. On a heavy, well-worn table rested an impressive collection of brushes of all sizes and shapes made from animal fur, a well-used palette, pieces of crumpled paper, filthy rags stiff with dried paint, and a trio of sketchbooks. All of the canvases that were still positioned on their studio easels had covers draped over them to keep the dust off. Wolfram chuckled a little inside, remembering Yuuri's take on it—saying he covered his "masterpieces" to hide his bad art from the world. Bad. Yes, "bad" in both sight and smell.

Wolfram crossed his arms against his chest at the memory. His art wasn't bad. It was just misunderstood. And that, alone, proved him to be a true artist.

On his left side, Wolfram glanced at one of his masterpieces leaning against the wall—a large, handsome portrait of Yuuri with his shirt off painted in expensive bear-bee feces paint. It took forever to select just the right colors. The lighting in the room had to be perfect, too, because Yuuri was perfect—or, so he thought in the beginning. Now, Wolfram's feelings were much like this room.

Wolfram glanced around the room again as he sighed and unfolded his arms. There was no point in dredging up feelings now…or pasts, either. That was not why he'd come.

_I'm waiting for…_

And, then, his eyes caught on the thing shoved in the right corner.

_An __armoire? _

He maneuvered closer with his jaw dropping a little more with each step.

"How, the Hell, did _that_ get in there?" He could feel his blood starting to boil, his element, fire, blooming within his chest. "Someone's been in my studio! Damn it!" He made a fist at his side.

Wolfram stomped up to the doors, noting with distain the effeminate floral pattern carved into the dark wood along with perky little bows, also carved in, that just screamed his mother's garish style.

Green eyes flashed dangerously._ My studio is not to be her storage space! She has too many junk piles in the castle as it is._ He wanted to rip his hair out. This was so unfair. _When will she learn to accept "no"? When?! When?!_

"Not what you were expecting, huh?" said a cheeky voice from directly behind Wolfram. Green eyes widened and he turned around in a flash.

"Y-You?" The blond shook his head in disbelief. "You're the one I'm supposed to meet. The one who sent the letters…?"

A soft laugh.

"Me."

* * *

What a cute smile. A darling, cherub face...

The tall, lanky gardener-boy, who was barely of age, couldn't believe his stroke of good luck. This cute girl found him, somehow, and winked at him. A promising sign. She struck up a shy conversation, glancing here and there, and asked when his next break was. Putting his "manly" shovel aside with great pride, his eyes swept the horizon. A quick break didn't matter as long as the Master Gardener didn't catch him—catch _them_.

A girlish giggle. "Good."

She motioned for him to "talk" with her behind one of the storage buildings nearby. Even from the outside, it smelled as any dusty garage would, but that was okay. Nightfall was coming soon enough. The work day was almost over and a little bit of privacy between them could help them get to know each other better. Maybe, she would confess her love or something.

"Oh!" she gasped, a hand pressed to her mouth. Someone was coming. Or, rather, by the sound of it, many "someones."

With her urging, they pushed themselves flat against the rough wood as hay wagons rambled by—heading in the direction of the Royal Stables. Stable boys prattled and called to each other by name. Work had to be done before losing the last of the sun's rays. There was supposed to be another hay wagon and where was it? No one knew and all they could do was report it. A rookie driver getting lost on the castle grounds. That would be an issue for the adults, not stable boys looking for their suppers.

The pair visibly relaxed as the horses' clomping continued off in the distance. The young gardener eyed her. That little bit of mischief was fun. Now, it was time for a little more _fun_. Taking the opportunity, he tentatively reached out to her waist.

Another girlish giggle. A bright smile. "Hi, my name is…"

Whop!

A burst of powder…

"Eeep!" The young man slowly tumbled to the ground with a baseball-sized bag of sleeping powder smacking him right in the "plumbs." The powder plumed up from the open bag upon impact and had rushed upwards. He was now white-faced and fetal as the sage approached casually, his hands in his pockets.

"Sorry, Shinou, for not coming sooner," Murata sighed, retrieving the bag of powder without inhaling any of it. Then, he took the left leg while the Original King took the right. They had it down to a system now and the dragging part was almost always the taxing part. "This has become frightfully dull. And, add to the fact, I've just grown tired of seeing the same thing over and over again. This time, I guess, I decided to aim a bit.._lower_." He frowned more than a little to himself, thinking his own thoughts. "Forgive me, but that's one of the curses of being The Great Sage. History repeats itself and none more so than in this little scheme we've got going right now."

Shinou nodded in agreement. His female host was now sleeping peacefully—napping in the back of his mind—while the body was getting the work done. At first, catching potential "bad men" was vastly interesting to her. But, after hauling in the first seven or eight, she had found the rest dreary. She had hinted, before her sleep, about catching The Great Sage at the last moment and then doing naughty things with him. But Shinou, as much as the thought delighted him, had to decline the offer. Business was business and time was running out. That was a feeling he couldn't shake and Shinou always trusted his instincts.

They dragged the body into a side entrance that was usually reserved for the guards. The body made a distinct "thunking" sound on the stairs, but, after an hour or so of sleep, all he would have later on would be nothing worse than a bad headache. Too bad for him being in the wrong place, at the wrong time, with the wrong person.

Still, the lugging continued and it was, as the sage so rightly pointed out, a literal drag.

"Shinou, I don't see a bracelet on this one. Do you think he's under control, too?" Murata asked.

"Other wrist," Shinou said and motioned with eyes down. It was taking more and more effort to get this done. This female body he was borrowing didn't have as much stamina as he'd hoped. And what she had in stubbornness she lacked in upper body strength.

"Oh, I see."

"Not a problem," Shinou replied, pulling harder.

Murata glanced briefly at his companion and then back again. "To be totally honest with you, I have to admit that I'm somewhat…unhappy…with myself right now."

Shinou glanced at him curiously.

Murata's dark eyes narrowed into the distance in frustration. "Why is it that I can't stay mad at you for very long? And we're always like this…always. It never ends." He gave the Original King another brief, pained glance. "You know what I'm talking about."

A careless shrug and then the profile grew serious. "The truth, my sage?"

A nod in return.

"It's probably the influence of the old times…the old memories. The Original Sage always called me a 'selfish king' but, no matter how angry, he always found a way to forgive me…because…" The eyes grew bluer, the memories for him being both tender and painful. No, this was too much to admit. He would soften the answer if he could, if Murata didn't remember enough to contradict him. "'Forgiveness,' my young sage, is both a blessing and a curse." Shinou pulled on the body harder. Though lugging it didn't seem quite so taxing now. "If you are truly to become a 'wiser' sage than The Original, then… never ever forgive me." A sad huff of a laugh. "Let go while you still can."

Murata shook his head at that. "Nice try, Shinou, but 'reverse psychology' won't work on me."

Shinou looked confused.

"I mean… You tell me one thing and expect that I'll do the opposite… Sorry, Shinou. I'll make my own decisions in this lifetime. That's just the way it is…for the sake of our _present_ king and country. You are the past." He then set his features to something more determined than before and continued his work, a shine across his glasses masking his eyes.

One typically arrogant comment like that from his sage and Shinou could do nothing more than laugh in derision on the inside. He had spoken the truth and spoken from his heart. But his sage—this version of him—would not listen. But such was the nature of their lives together. And it was not within Shinou's power to change it—not even for the better, not even for the sake of the Great Sage of Shin Makoku.

The red thread of fate could bind that tightly.

And, for them, it was twisted.

Painfully so.

* * *

Wolfram tightened his fist around the hilt of his sword, slowly coming back to himself. This was so unreal. He'd been raised to believe, as all military men did, to look for an enemy who appeared to be an enemy. The signs. They were always there—somewhere. But this one had done well. The appearance, the acting, had deceived him completely.

What a fool he was.

_So careless…!_

A finger was shaken at him, the way mothers do at their naughty sons. "It's always the quiet ones, you know." The voice was so cheeky that Wolfram kicked himself another time.

The threadbare, homespun shirt was unbuttoned, revealing a much finer white shirt beneath. A crudely woven red bandana was tossed down, too. The earth-smudged, straw sunhat hit the floor crown first.

A broad, hard smile and glittering gold eyes took Wolfram in.

As the garb fell to the floor, the young man's whole demeanor altered in an instant from the meek and humble person who had been milling about the castle to something harder and far more conceited. His grubby hand reached up and he grabbed a pigtail, pulling the wig completely off of his head in one hard tug. "And, I won't be needing this dark enchantment anymore, either," he chuckled knowingly, separating the ends of the bracelet on his right wrist, creating a brief, blue spark. The bracelet tumbled down and its broad, ornate charm hit the floor with a strange, clanging sound that reverberated in an unholy tone. He crushed it with the heel of his boot just for the fun of it. It was amusing to kick the shattered and, now, oddly faded pieces away, too.

Wolfram's face hardened as the young man ruffled the top of his own head casually, without a care in the world, making his light chestnut hair stick out at odd angles. "I have to admit, a couple of times, I thought you were on to me. From the looks you were giving me, I mean, when we passed each other. But, I guess not. So, tell me truly, of everyone here," he gestured around as though there were people in the room with them, "you never really suspected me at all, huh? Not ever?" He was so proud of himself.

This was checkmate.

"Yeah, I'd say so," Yuuri fumed from the doorway, entering with a distinct scowl on his face.

"Y-Yuuri!" The blond could feel his heart picking up speed. This was not the time for foolish blunders and Yuuri was the king of them. Not to mention, he looked like he'd just gotten out of bed. "Yuuri, how did you know? What did you do? Follow me or search the whole castle?"

A glance in the blond's direction and there was a slight feeling of relief that he was fine for the moment. "That's not important," the double black stated flatly, walking further into the room.

The stranger was calm—a little too calm. And he was standing directly between himself and Wolfram. The double black decided to edge his way over in an arc, nonchalantly, if he could. But, all the while, he could feel the young man's animal eyes watching him, taking him in with almost contented sideways glances.

"But, what is important is…" Yuuri took another step forward, hands slipping into his pockets to appear far more composed than he really felt. "Why? Yes, I'd like an answer to that question."

Yes, he'd like it, but his tone spoke "demand."

The young man turned and pretended to take a sudden interest in an easel with a long, gray cover draped over it. He rolled his right shoulder slowly, trying to work the stiffness out. "'Why'…is a good question. You know, many people throughout the world ask 'Why?' about you, too. For example, 'Why is it that such a total novice is allowed to run an entire country?' I mean, do you think before you act?" He threw a meaningful look over his shoulder at Yuuri. "I'll bet that you came here this instant without personal guards or, in fact, any help whatsoever. I'll bet that you came bumbling in here…_all alone_." A ruthless grin slowly spread across his face. "I am right. Aren't I?"

Yuuri swallowed thickly at that and decided not to look at Wolfram this time. He could just feel the disapproval radiating off of the blond Mazoku. Of course, Yuuri would run to Wolfram's aid right away without thinking of backup. Helping, caring, finding a way out of the hardest moments—he was known for those things. Maybe, it was skill and, maybe, it was sheer luck. Either way, he'd find a solution or a solution would find him. But, first, he needed something to work with.

"Who are you?!" Yuuri demanded, changing the subject entirely. "What do you want?"

"I guess I was right." A menacing chortle followed.

Once more, Wolfram made a fist at his side. His wedding band glinted in the flickering candlelight. And that sight gave Yuuri hope. It was two against one, wasn't it?

"Answer him. Who are you?" Wolfram gritted out, waiting for an excuse—any excuse—to strike. One wrong move towards his king, his husband, and the blond would do whatever it took to end this, be it bloody results or not.

"Okay, okay," the man faux placated and pretended to dust himself down, as though he actually cared. Wolfram noticed that right away, but made no movement. He simply held his position.

"You both want a story, I take it, and I'll tell you one." He cocked his head to one side, looking to see if Yuuri was paying attention.

He was.

"Let's see…" He scratched his chin. "Where to start… Hmmm… It's best to begin at the beginning, I suppose." He addressed the double black directly and introduced himself. "My name is Lin and, next week, I'll probably go by something else. But I will say that, thanks to the two of you, I have gone by this name longer than any of my others." He folded his arms against his chest and pouted slightly at his filthy nails. The things he'd done to make it this far.

"And?" Wolfram prodded. His patience was wearing thin.

"Oh, yes…sorry, my mind wandered there for a bit." He raked his fingers through his hair, damp from the sweat of being under the wig for so long. He really needed to cool off. "As your Great Sage figured out long ago, there was a fourth person involved in the incident on your somewhat disastrous wedding day." He turned to Yuuri and grinned again. "However, I am not, as everyone assumes, an assassin by trade. Nasty business, that… I was, nevertheless, hired by a certain noble from Big Cimaron to do a little job at an extremely generous price using my own discretion to get results. And, Lin 'The Procurer,' himself, stands before you now." He took a deep, almost dramatic, bow—one worthy of Günter himself. But, all the while, his eyes never left Wolfram's sword.

"What do you want, Lin?" Yuuri asked darkly, fighting to keep his voice even as he stepped off at an angle. Now, he had a better view of Wolfram.

"You're getting ahead of me." Lin put a hand in his pocket and seemed to be toying with something. "Ah, well, here's the tale of a young 'gardener' who just happened to be hired at Blood Pledge Castle through a little bribe here and a little bribe there." He retrieved from his trouser pocket a brown leather coin purse and dropped it on the floor. Coins clanged and Wolfram made a jerking movement, stopping himself from striking his would-be opponent. "Two surly men joined the gardener through correspondence…small tasks and payments thereof. What better job could there be? Of course, Lady Agnes Rochefort, bless her heart, didn't want money. Oh, no… She had loads of the stuff." Lin pretended to fight off a grin. It didn't work. "What she wanted was more power at court. And, with certain people gone, she believed that she, and her noble house, would be in a better position to gain that power."

"Seriously?" Yuuri said, having a hard time believing that Lady Agnes would take such a ridiculous gamble.

"Oh, yes… Such a thing was possible through political infighting and back biting as support. She even wanted the Great Sage gone, I hear."

Yuuri and Wolfram met eyes briefly.

"And to be perfectly frank with you both, it really wasn't that hard in the beginning. Who looks at a gardener? Where they go and what their faces look like…?" He picked at his nails briefly. "No one notices." And then a crooked smile returned. "I was even the one who suggested the exact wedding flowers to be used in the bouquet that dear Wolf was carrying on his special day."

Yuuri gritted his teeth at that. He didn't like the informal words or the "Wolf" nickname Lin was using. In the Mazoku tongue, it came across as deeply insulting. Even in Japanese, it was worthy of a punch in the nose.

"So, you really were the one who wanted to kill Yuuri!" the blond growled.

A shrug. "In a way…" Lin counted off on his fingers. "There was the assassination attempt at the wedding. Another one was at the grotto. "

Yuuri gave a shocked look to Wolfram. The blond had been right after all. Right…and punished for it, driving them further apart.

Wolfram gave a slight shake of the head. He had forgiven Yuuri long ago. His heart gave him no choice in the matter. "Don't apologize," his eyes seemed to say. But it still hurt, Yuuri could tell, somewhere inside.

"I even went so far as to poison the white wine that you had with those bumbling idiots, Günter and Claus. I would never have guessed that you would have been so inept as to spill the very drink I intended to kill you with." His grin slipped away a little. "And to think I had to work so hard to set that up, too. Failure is such a bother."

"I can't exactly sympathize with you," Yuuri said darkly, narrowing his eyes. He could feel the Maou starting to stir. But the double black wanted to handle this himself.

"Oh, and don't let us forget the poisoned letters. I did, after all, get the pleasure of growing the herbs that I needed right in front of your eyes in the Royal Garden. Günter and the gardeners at the castle were a tremendous help in all of that…not that they'll ever remember." The smile returned and the tone became a taunting one. "But, do tell me one thing. Where did I go wrong? Wolf, why didn't you fall ill from reading my little, sweet love notes? I certainly sent enough to you and the content should have been more than a distraction."

Now, Wolfram looked to the side briefly, not wanting to give that part away.

"Does it matter?" Yuuri asked, still edging his way toward Wolfram.

"Well, after seeing you two walking around the castle as though nothing was wrong… And I know my favorite blondie got my little messages…so…" He turned to the fire Mazoku. "You do know how to read, don't you? Ha!" Gold eyes rested on Wolfram again with a strangely passionate flair. "And, then, there was that romantic evening the two of you shared…out amongst the stars…so many deep, deep kisses."

"Wait! What?!" Wolfram turned in a fury to Yuuri who was now backing up, hands in a placating gesture. How could this get any worse? Now, Wolfram was going to set him ablaze. He just knew it.

"Yuuri! How could you?!"

There was the smell of something burning in the room. Maybe, it was him and Yuuri just didn't feel it yet.

"Oh, please… Don't be modest, now," Lin purred. "It's not like any of us in this room are virgins. Still, I had to run away with a blush…not to mention I suspected I was being followed or I would have stayed for the rest of the show…such openly _erotic_ moaning."

"There was _moaning_?" Wolfram hissed to Yuuri, leaning around Lin to do so.

A laugh. "The king does moan beautifully when he wants to."

"S-Stop it!" Yuuri shouted—much louder than he intended and face beet red. "Besides, none of this matters at all."

"What?!" Wolfram demanded. Smoke was rising from his collar.

"That's it," Yuuri pushed on, "We're done here. Done! We know everything now." Yes, get back to the facts—_quickly_.

An eyebrow arched. "Really?" What a party pooper. "As you command…"

Yuuri narrowed his eyebrows at that.

Another soft laugh and a sudden burst of movement, blurring in front of Yuuri's vision. "Not everything is done, I believe," and, in a flash, Lin retrieved from his breast pocket a thin coil of hemp rope with tiny red beads woven into it. The lasso was around Wolfram's neck and tightened at the base of the throat before he could cry out.

Powerless, the blond fell to his knees. He could feel himself suddenly being cut off from his element and he struggled to breathe, almost gulping air.

"Making houseki bead 'toys'… Call it another hobby of mine…"

"Bastard!" Wolfram mouthed the word.

"You flatter me." Lin grinned cruelly, bending down and taking Wolfram's face in his palm. He tightened his fingers slowly, crushing him. "You see, trying to kill your dear husband, the king, was never really my initial, intended task. It was just a pathetic diversion I came up with so that I could learn my way around the castle and then cart away my _true_ prize. And, my pet, had you grown sick and weary from the poisoned letters, I would have just snatched you away from the infirmary in the night while the country mourned a dead king as I had originally planned." He pulled him closer with his free hand, fingers digging in.

Wolfram could do nothing to stop it. He was in cold, burning pain, struggling weakly against the rope with numb fingers despite Lin having him in his grasp.

The blond was desperately trying to stay conscious, trying to send Yuuri a message without words. _Run! Run!_ But, he knew better. Yuuri would not listen to a message from his heart.

He never had in the past.

"There is a noble, far across the sea…" Lin motioned toward the open balcony. He so loved to have an audience. "One…who is willing to pay a very fine price for a male concubine as lovely and as fiery as yourself. And taming you should be a pleasure." He knelt down next to Wolfram and tightened the rope slowly, sensuously with his fingertips. "Don't worry, my pet. You'll be well taken care of…in every possible way."

Yuuri's eyes widened at the admission. "All this time…you wanted to sell Wolfram…as a concubine?!" It was revolting. He refused to even allow himself to imagine Wolfram being embraced that way.

"Oh, yes. Only to warm someone's bed on a whim. The lengths to which the upper echelon will go to in order to have a beautiful toy..." He grabbed a fist-full of blond hair and pulled roughly, watching with pleasure as he winced with teeth gritted. "And I have come for you, Wolfram von Bielefeld."

Green eyes shut tightly, breathing labored. "_Yuuri…get…out…of…here…_" he rasped before he collapsed to the floor in a heap.

"Wolf!" And Yuuri grabbed an easel—trying to smash it against Lin if he could.

"I don't think so," Lin purred, producing a dagger from his boot and pressing it against a pale throat. A pearl-shaped drop of blood formed. "I guarantee his death if you try to stop me. I'm past my delivery deadline already. Each day, my fee drops."

Staring at the blood, the double black froze in a way that Lin took as defiance. "Don't believe me? Just try it."

Yuuri opened his fingers and released the easel. It clattered to the floor loudly, wood cracking in places. He prayed within his heart that someone passing by would hear.

"Hmmm…" Golden eyes darted down. "A nice sword my Wolf has here…in more ways than one I hear." He gave Yuuri a sexy wink and it sickened him. "By the looks of it, this antique sword and sheath may fetch me a fine price. Profit is always a good thing when it comes to selling family heirlooms."

On to other matters…

"Now," Lin began in a more businesslike way after wrapping up the blond's wrists with the end of the rope, "we have something else to attend to." He stood up and pointed the steel dagger in Yuuri's direction. "What to do with you…?"

Lin bit his lower lip, considering his options. Thinking out loud: "I could take you hostage and get a ton of gold in the bargain. A nice thought, isn't it?" He chuckled to himself and walked in slow and precise steps in Yuuri's direction while twirling the dagger carelessly. "The problem is Lord Weller. He'd not rest a moment until you are back on the throne. After all, he values you far more than his own little brother. But it all really comes down to profit and loss, you see."

A swift gesture to the sad figure of Wolfram on the floor. The young fire wielder's eyes were closed, his lips slightly parted, and hair splayed on the dusty, paint-splotched floor. The places where the rope touched his skin looked like it had been badly sunburned and the rest slowly paled to alabaster.

Yuuri shouted angrily, "That's not true!"

"Idiot… Of course, it is true." How stupid was he? "A king cannot be replaced. Instead, the game simply ends. Haven't you ever played 'Jewels' Crusade' or even chess?"

"Jewels' Crusade…" Yuuri's mind flicked back for a moment. He was playing the game with Greta. He could hear her words clearly: _In the future, I don't…I mean I…" Greta fidgeted. "…An engagement to someone…to someone I don't want and never will... In other words… I don't want to be like you.". _

"Like me," he whispered. Yuuri's eyes desperately sought out Wolfram once more. His relationship with Wolfram was very different back then. So much so that it pained him. Greta had known about the way they were and was determined to escape their fate.

_But, those were choices…my choices…not destiny…_

_I need him now. We need each other._

_I want to touch him!_

The two of them together—by each other's side—was the only thing that mattered. In the real world and in dreams, losing Wolfram seemed to be a continuous cycle, a repeated experience—one he could not endure again. He could not be alone. Not like that. To tolerate the rest of this lifetime without his "Wolf" would be too much. He'd learned that much at least.

And no man or woman—anywhere—could have Wolfram—ever.

He'd fight. As himself or as The Maou, he'd do it.

"On the other hand," Lin mused, tilting his head to one side as though that would give him foresight, "I could just simply…" He made a playful thrust of the dagger in Yuuri's direction and the double black jumped away on instinct. He stumbled into an easel with a painting on it and struggled to stay on his feet, moving more and more into the back of the room.

"Rumor has it in Big Cimaron that you have black blood. That's what makes your hair and eyes so black. And it has magical properties worthy of Shinou himself." Another twirl of the blood-stained blade.

Wolfram's blood.

"I wonder if it is true… It would certainly be valuable. Then again, I could cut my losses. Poisoning you here would be simple enough to do."

Yuuri kept shuffling back as Lin approached with prideful, heavy steps. "Speaking of poison… Another rumor is that The Demon King's blood is made of bubbling snake venom. That would be a lovely thing for my collection." He threw a look at the armoire.

This time, Yuuri caught on easily. "So, that's how you were doing it."

"Indeed…from inside the castle. The Royal Greenhouse had its uses, too. Several of your best guards must be incredibly sleepy thanks to those tall plants I had delivered."

Yuuri found himself edging backwards once more. With each movement, they were getting farther and farther away from Wolfram—a respite, but only that. He stumbled and then straightened up. He looked up to see that the door was now directly between himself and Lin. Running in the maze of artwork, tables, and easels didn't seem promising and he wouldn't leave Wolfram behind. He couldn't.

A flash of the blade.

"But, another rumor says that just piercing your skin would make the air in the room grow deadly. And, that would not be such a fine thing for me, if tales be true."

"_R-e-a-l-l-y_?" Yuuri took courage from that—from gossip—for the first time in his life. His eyes brightened. "So, that means you can't touch me because you don't know for sure, right? Yeah, I am right! …" Yuuri actually found himself standing straighter, standing taller. "So, you'd better let me go…_let us_ go." He crossed his arms against his chest. "Just get out of here!"

Now, it was Lin's turn to be astonished. "Do you really think I'd be dim-witted enough to believe you'd just let me walk right out of here? Like nothing happened?" His tone took on a seething anger. "Worse yet, to lose to someone like you this way? Like I'm out of options when I'm so close..?"

"Wha-?"

"Maybe, I'll decide on one of those other plans after all…take chance." A sharp fang stuck out of the side of his mouth. "Or, maybe…!" Making a roundhouse kick at the double black, Lin roared, "I CAN DO THIS!"

Yuuri forced his body to twist to avoid the blow, but it was of no use. It struck and struck painfully hard, agony searing into him. And, then, he felt himself falling backwards off of the balcony into darkness, his arms covering his face. The wind rushed up to meet him.

He screamed.


	23. Chapter 23

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Chapter 23

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"_Passion_ is the quickest to develop

and the quickest to fade.

_Intimacy_ develops more slowly, and

_commitment_ more gradually still."

~Robert Sternberg

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The houseki lasso was around Wolfram's neck and tightened at the base of the throat before he could cry out. Powerless, a hand going to the hemp rope, fingers digging in, Wolfram could do nothing more than to fall to his knees.

"Wha-?" Shinou released the leg and dropped his half of the body he was lugging, his eyes brightening to a high, high, blue color with snake-like slits as he tilted his head up, looking into nothing and everything.

"Shinou?" Murata murmured, slightly confused, as he half-turned to the side. "What is it?"

"It burns," The Original King muttered under his breath. But there was the feeling of "cold," too—such numbing, numbing cold, eating into flesh.

He felt so ill. _They_ felt so ill, vision fading to black.

Murata leaned in Shinou's direction. "I…don't understand. Explain…"

A hand to the chest, gulps of air. "Detaching from his element…" Shinou shifted his vision, breathing harder. "Bastard," he said bitterly.

Murata narrowed his eyebrows, annoyed but trying to overcome it—trying to look into Shinou's eyes for an answer, to get him to respond.

It didn't work.

Blue eyes searched. A flash of vision: Lin grinning cruelly with sharp teeth exposed. Then, the man bent down and took his face in his palm. The feeling of fingers tightening against skin, crushing hard.

Shinou touched his host's face vaguely.

"Shinou." Murata spoke the name in a more serious manner this time. It had never been like this before, not this intense. Without a thought, the sage dropped the burden he had been dragging.

The Original King's expression became blank and his eyes moved as though reading a book. "Trying to kill…never really…intended task. Pathetic…diversion…" Shinou turned abruptly and marched his way toward the door. "Pathetic…diversion…" Each step grew stronger, faster despite this slender body's fatigue. No time. No time at all. "Run! Run!"

"Shinou!?" Murata shouted after him, and then he glanced briefly at the gardener's body stretched out before his feet. The idiot was actually starting to drool on his shoe. "What in all the Seven Hells…?" he called out, following at a wretched, inexpert jog.

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* * *

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Yuuri couldn't stop screaming. He was plunging downward, darkness shrouding him, and the wind against his bare arms and chest, freezing him as he plunged.

This was it, he knew. He was going to die.

Falling.

Falling.

Forcing his mind to be blank—to accept what was to come. The pain would be beyond the kick to the torso that he just took. It would be beyond measure.

_Wolf… Gomen…_

Eyes shut tightly, he couldn't look.

The ground was coming up to meet him.

Bright blue light—a bolt from somewhere. A sudden galloping. A horrible rush of groaning wood upon wood and metal. The whinnying of horses rising to a crescendo of high-pitched squeals. A man's desperate scream of terror in the night and Yuuri found himself landing hard, the wind knocked out of him for a second.

"Ah, ah…" he breathed. Weakly, he wrapped his arms around himself for a second. He blinked up into an inky black sky. Maybe, there were stars. At this point, he didn't really care. The double black lifted a shoulder, trying to sit up. "Nuh… So…d-i-z-z-y" he groaned with his next shallow intake of air. Everything was spinning. Did he really want to move?

Then, the smell of sweet hay flooded his senses, surrounding him from head to foot.

A hand to his head as he heard a voice say out loud, "I had no idea Jesse and Buttercup could move that fast." A soft pat and, "Seriously, I had no idea you two had it in ya at your ages."

Yuuri struggled to sit up with a hand to his aching head. He had a splitting headache now. "What…just happened?"

Not far away, a lone torch was casting a low light, but there was enough for him to see that he'd landed into the back of an over-stuffed hay wagon with horses no less. There was a smug-looking but beautiful young girl that he'd seen before approaching him along with Murata, doing his best to jog along to catch up to them—a dismal sight with all of the huffing he was doing and glasses askew.

_Then again…_

Yuuri glanced down at himself and then felt the top of his head. There was hay in his hair and he was itching all over his back from landing and rolling around in the lumpy bed of the wagon. Gently, he slid a long, golden strand of hay from his raven hair and examined it. "I…uh…"

"Let me give you a hand, Shibuya." Murata lifted an arm up, took Yuuri's hand in his, and helped the young king down the mountain of hay to the ground. The double black swayed for a second once he was on his feet and Murata instinctively put an arm around his shoulders to steady him, just like old times back on Earth.

Shinou frowned briefly at the hand-holding and that "all-too-friendly" arm around the neck thing between them, but tried to be understanding about it, too.

"Your Majesty!" the deliveryman said in awe, turning in his seat and taking his hat off to show respect. He was horrified that the double black had literally dropped in the way he had. "How did you…?" The man glanced up, then back at the hay cart, and up again. "I mean, it's miraculous. It's amazin' even."

"Yes, it certainly is _amazing_, my king," Shinou said in his host's most adorable, most feminine voice. It gave Murata the urge to want to withdraw his arm from around Yuuri with more than a little discomfort. Exactly why that was, the sage didn't want to speculate.

"Can you believe that bolt of lightnin' came at just the right time and drove my horses forward?" the man said with a growing smile. Boy, would he have a story to tell over dinner tonight. "If it hadn't, his majesty'd have gone splat on the ground here."

"Yes," Shinou sighed in agreement with a tired smile and round, apple cheeks, "a total miracle that 'lightning' came at just the right time…" Blue eyes turned to the sky. "…On a clear night…"

The deliveryman looked up, too. "Oh… Then, there be magic on this night, I can tell ya… Strange things will be afoot…both the good and the bad. It's a sure sign," the deliveryman agreed and put his hat back upon his head.

"Magic," Murata pursed his lips after uttering the word dryly. He wasn't in the mood for old wives' tales. The Mazoku belief that prune juice leads to nightmares was a prime example.

The sage saw with his own eyes exactly who created that "lightning" out of thin air and it was Shinou building up his power and creating a blast of it at the horses and hay cart, pushing them all along at incredible speed. It was probably the best he could do at the moment. Improv was never one of Shinou's strengths. That was why he liked spending long evenings alone with his Original Sage…with jugs of wine or flagons of honey ale in their tent under the stars while they…together…

Murata shook himself back to reality. This was no good. _I can't… I just can't…_ He had to stop doing things like that to himself if he was going to stay sane in this lifetime.

He had to focus. Shinou had just saved Yuuri's life—somehow. And that was all that mattered. He'd stick with that. Don't delve too deeply. Then, Murata's dark eyes shifted to the double black. Yuuri had slipped away from his arm and was stumbling back into the castle. "What are you doing?" he called, concerned that Yuuri had something else in mind—something just as reckless as falling out of castle windows.

"I'm saving Wolf!"

"You mean, von Bielefeld?"

Murata palmed his face. Yes, he was right. Reckless.

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* * *

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"Such a pretty, pretty…," Lin purred, pleased, ghosting his hand over Wolfram's cheek with satisfaction. A job well done was always a pleasure in the end. "Hair, eyes, face… No doubt about it, my lovely, you are well worth it."

The armoire was flat on the floor now with the hand truck dolly at the ready. He pushed back the armoire doors, letting them clatter against the floor, revealing the central cavity of the heavy, wooden piece of furniture. Half of the interior had been sectioned off and there were three exotically designed brown boxes with leather straps and ornate locks on each of them. Everything on that side seemed neat and well packed for the journey. The other side was an empty space with thin, padded cushions studded into the interior woodwork. And, with little effort, Lin lifted Wolfram's limp body and tucked it neatly into that open side. An owlish glare and a shake of the head "no." Not entirely satisfied, Lin re-folded Wolfram's tightly bound arms in. And, with the legs, he rearranged the way they were packaged in, too.

Perfect. Even the legs had to be nestled in just right.

"A fine sight you are, my dear Wolf. You in this place…carried in this way…" He smiled winningly and with a slight tilt to the head, admiring his work. "I wonder…does this look like your cradle or your coffin…? Or, maybe, you are nothing more than a pretty doll shipped in a crate for your new owner to enjoy." He flipped his hair back away from his eyes. "Probably that last scenario, I expect, would be the most accurate one. I could ask your husband about it, but the bird has flown from the window." He laughed at the thought. It was really funny.

Lin put his hands on his hips and rested for a second. "Of course, with the fall he took, that makes you a widower, not a married Mazoku. This just keeps getting better and better."

Back to work.

"You know, it is so good to have someone to talk to after all this time," Lin explained as he bound Wolfram's knees together with the red bandana he'd dropped on the floor earlier on. "And I do so love an audience." He tightened the knot with a little finesse. Now, nothing would shift in transit. "You know, I have been criticized in the past for being too 'talky'…too loquacious… Can you believe that? Just because I reveal my ideas…_sometimes_…to the people who are _involved_… Not that it matters a bit because, all too soon, they end up tragically, tragically…" He glanced at the ceiling, pretending with false modesty, to search for a word. "Umm…_dead_. Yes, dead. Strange, isn't it…how fate works out like that sometimes? So, there's no real harm in expressing my true feelings."

He touched Wolfram's blond hair again. It was such a sunny, spun gold color. And the fire Mazoku was the very image of Shinou that people worshipped. "Yes, most of the people I deal with never get their 'happily ever after.' But I can't say that for you, though, my dear Wolf. You're special and I really just want to do my job…and keep my head in the bargain."

Lin closed the doors to the armoire and locked it shut with a heart-shaped key. "But, I must admit that I am half tempted to keep you. Such a pretty thing when you're asleep… And I'm an expert in herbs and potions…and trivial trinkets…thanks to my line of work…" Lin allowed himself to imagine it—his fantasies of Wolfram. A blush came to him briefly and faded just as fast. "Ah, but no… Money is what you are…currency incarnate…and that's all you will ever be to me. That is your worth."

.

* * *

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Yuuri could feel his heart pounding. It was so hard that it shook his whole body.

"I have to get there… Get Wolf! And, if not, it may be too late…" The double black found the nearest stairs, bounded up the first three steps, and headed up two at a time after that. "He won't be a male concubine or anything else…!" Yuuri was running with one arm across his aching ribs and the other making a fist with elbow pumping.

"Wait! What?" Murata called from behind the line of people who had gathered to join them—including Shinou, the deliveryman from the hay cart, five castle guards who saw them running at top speed, and Conrad sprinting from an adjoining hallway, shouting something totally incomprehensible starting with "Heika."

It didn't matter. Nobody stopped.

"Shibuya! Who said anything about male concubines?" Murata called out in Japanese. He hoped that Yuuri had just misunderstood slang words in the Mazoku tongue again—like the time he mixed up "trumpet, "strumpet," and "egg pie." It made for a most embarrassing meeting.

Yuuri glanced and could see down below that Yozak had joined their group but, first, ditched a bottle of wine to the side before taking his place at Conrad's side. Somehow, that gave Yuuri confidence—faith—in what he was doing. They'd join together and everything would be okay.

_Wait for me, Wolf! We're coming! We're on the way!_

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* * *

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The double black made it to the top, doubled over for a second—still holding his ribs—and then streaked off down the hallway. The guards were hot on his heels as was the rest of their little group—including Yozak and Conrad who, just by the act of running, was drawing more and more attention. Curious off duty guards quickly joined them, calling out to each other for backup, with Murata keeping up the best he could at what seemed to be the tail end of the line.

"He's in here! We've gotta get to him!" Yuuri shouted over his shoulder to Conrad. Then, he picked up speed as the art studio door itself came into view.

His goal. He was almost there.

"Heika! Stay back! Let Yozak and me handle things from here!" his godfather shouted above the din of foot stomping and a cacophony of concerned voices filling the hallway.

But Yuuri ignored his words. It wasn't the first time he'd done it, either. But it was the first time he'd done it without a shred of guilt or second guessing. His heart told him what to do and he'd follow that feeling—that true sense of what was right. "Wolfram is my consort!" Yuuri yelled back, making the group behind him gape in surprise at the admission. "He belongs to me, and I won't give up on him now! Wolfram will be by my side again!"

"It's about time," Murata huffed to himself sourly. "And it certainly took him long enough to realize what was best for both of them."

The sage could see Yuuri entering the door to the art studio and the rest of the mob following behind him, trying to file in as quickly and effortlessly as they could. Men had slowed down to a stop at one point, but made way for Murata—as usual—so that the "Great Sage of Shin Makoku" could make his way in and give expert advice to a king who rarely took it.

Murata pushed his glasses up on his nose and entered, looking around and seeing—zero.

"Shibuya?" the sage said, placing a hand on Yuuri's shoulder. "Where's…?"

Yuuri looked stunned. It was as though his mind could not process the thought of not seeing Wolfram. Had he faded away and become dust?

"He was here! Wolf was right here…on the floor tied with a rope with red stones in it." Yuuri gestured downward where there was a clean spot on the floor. The rest was covered in dust. "The person we're looking for is a guy who has been working here as a gardener. Calls himself 'Lin' and he knows everything about the castle…"

"Which one was he?" Murata asked, feeling frustrated that he'd missed the very person he wanted to meet.

"The one with the sunhat!" Yuuri said quickly. "And he's dangerous, I tell you!"

"I'd gathered that," Murata mumbled to himself, still scanning the room with his eyes. "He also knows a thing or two about black magic, herbs, and potions." The sage gave the wig on the floor a brief nudge with the toe of his shoe while noting that the sunhat was still there, too, along with a work shirt.

Then, Yuuri sought out and found "nothing" again. "Wait, everyone! The armoire is gone, too!" Yuuri pointed to the corner where the armoire had rested.

"An armoire? In an art studio?" Yozak said, confused.

"No, it makes perfect sense," Murata swiftly caught on. "There! Look! I can make out light brown scrape marks on the floor where the armoire has been moved around." He traced barely visible lines with his finger, the short route it took. "And, over there… Wheels… It was wheeled out of here. Those are the darker scuff marks. See?" He turned to the group meaningfully. "_Something_ was in that armoire besides the usual."

"Something?" Yozak said.

Conrad and Murata met eyes. "Wolfram?" he breathed.

Murata nodded and Yozak cursed openly.

"Search the castle!" Conrad ordered to the guards.

"And since we didn't run into the person pushing it…" Yozak began.

"That means that he took another route to get out of here…" Murata agreed with a nod.

"Everyone! We're going to start searching now!" And then Conrad turned to the guards closest to him. "Evans, Wilks, Barnhardt, and Dale…make sure that the main exits are closed and pass the word to the servants that their exits are to be closed and locked as well. Then, station more guards." He turned to the youngest soldier and ordered, "Harris, go to the tower and have them ring the alarm bell."

"Yes, sir!" they all said in unison, going their own separate ways.

"I'm going to search, too!" the double black said, not waiting for permission. He was king and he'd never felt so alive, so needed, in his entire life.

Conrad and Yozak followed Yuuri out the door, running as hard as they could. They'd search at random toward the western part of the castle. That was the most logical direction to start.

Murata had just passed the threshold when he sensed a presence by the door—unmistakably Shinou. Turning with a dour expression, "Decided to be lazy or…?" He stopped his sarcastic comment mid-sentence, watching the way the arms were folded and the body was leaning casually against the wall.

"Shinou?"

A brief glance and then eyes back on the floor. "I thought I'd come all the way up here to help, but I can't sense my descendant anymore…for some reason… I guess…I wasn't of much use after all." It was hard to get the words out.

Murata glanced the way Yuuri, Conrad, and Yozak had gone and then thought about it. He stepped to the side and took up a stance next to Shinou. Now, they were shoulder to shoulder. "Shinou…" he said evenly.

"Yes."

"Your lips are turning blue."

A shrug and a slight smile coming to a tired expression. "Possibly…"

Murata gritted his teeth and then took a slender hand in his. It was cold and clammy to the touch. He felt up to the wrist. The pulse was slow.

"Shinou, what have you done?"

No answer.

"Did you hear me? Tell me." He leaned in closer. "Speak."

The body moved as though jarred awake suddenly. "Sorry… We are tired. And…knowing that…" A head rested itself lightly, hesitantly on Murata's shoulder. "It took all of our strength to get here. We wanted to see you again. That's all."

Murata cringed, furious. In an angry undertone, he said, "The body you're occupying has limits. It's mortal. And you've overextended yourself…your power…within that body."

"A risk…"

"A risk?" Murata hissed back in disbelief. "What were you thinking?"

A laugh that sounded both male and female came from a single mouth, setting Murata's teeth on edge. He knew what it meant. The two were losing their sync.

"What were we thinking? We were thinking of saving…our _present_ king and, by extension, the country." A crooked smile and eyes dimming, no longer blue. "We are the past…but can see a piece of the future. My poor descendant…is…"

Murata grabbed the girl's wrist and dragged her into the art studio, shutting the door behind them. Taking her forearm, Murata walked her to the large table and knocked, sloppily, all of the art supplies to the floor with a single swipe of his hand. Dirty and paint-stained or not, it would have to do.

"Come here." He grabbed her waist, forcing her to sit up on the table. Then, he sat next to her. "So, tell me what's going to happen to Shibuya…to von Bielefeld…" Talking was one thing, but he needed to start his examination now.

"This is pointless…" It was Shinou's voice that spoke the words, barely above a whisper.

"Try…"

"We did try." There was a wan smile now. "Everything we did…was for our sage…" The body, once again, started to sag. "To please him…"

Murata arched an eyebrow at the word "please" thinking that other words could easily replace it. "Well, it looks like you're going to fall," he worried in a professional tone, half catching her. "Sit back further on the table." Murata's face took on a stern look which said, "Do what I'm telling you or else."

Mechanically, the girl's body shifted back, away from the edge. Murata took her forearm and helped her when he grew too concerned, too anxious that things were not going fast enough.

"Fine, Shinou. I guess, you can fill me in later. But listen to me again: You used too much energy and you used a mortal body recklessly!" he lectured, trying to do an examination to see how bad this was. He touched her face, lifted her chin, and looked into her eyes. He wished that he had better light than candlelight to work with. His previous lifetime as a doctor was coming in handy at the moment. But his choices, he knew, were few.

"To save a king…to save his heart…"

Murata raised a palm and mentally brushed aside the words. There was no time for romantic talk. "I'll bet you didn't even power up properly, did you?" Of course, that was true. He knew it from the start but didn't focus on more than Yuuri falling. In all of the chaos, he didn't have time to think of Shinou—to think of consequences.

"No time…"

There was a long, uncomfortable pause. "Shinou?"

"Last gift to you…is this… Forgive me someday…"

This time, she looked off into the distance and simply kept _looking_—staring a hole into the wall. Her face losing expression, becoming something both haunting and placid at the same time.

"Shinou?" Murata turned her face toward him. It was like moving a mannequin. "Shinou!"

He shook the body hard.

"Shinou!"

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* * *

.

"I think it's this way" a man in a white shirt and simple pair of trousers said to himself, huffing hard. He stopped and wiped his sweaty hands on his thighs. How many times was it? He'd lost count. This was tough work. His back would certainly ache tomorrow. He really hadn't prepared very well for this after all, he had to admit.

Someone coughed into his fist with authority. "Excuse me…" a course-sounding voice came from behind. Out of habit, he smiled meekly. "It's the Reeve," he muttered to himself uncomfortably. With a turn and a quick bow, he nervously met eyes with a balding, flat-faced Mazoku in his late 40's carrying a clipboard and quill.

"What are you doing at this hour?" the Reeve asked suspiciously. "I assume that it is your mealtime, is it not?"

A hard, uncomfortable smile was creeping in. "Um…well… I-I was told by Lady Cheri to move this armoire out and…"

"As the newly appointed Reeve of this castle, it is my occupation…_my duty_ to His Majesty…to make sure that everyone begins and ends work on time." He tapped the parchment he'd been writing on dramatically, leaving more inky dots. Apparently, he'd been doing it a lot that day. "And everyone of your station should be finishing a meal at this time…or be in the infirmary for being ill."

"So sorry… But it is for _Lady Cheri_…" he emphasized with a submissive, almost greasy tone.

The Reeve, appearing not to be impressed in the slightest from the name-dropping, snapped his fingers at his assistant—a tall, burly man who seemed to have come literally out of the woodwork from somewhere. "I want this hallway cleared."

A trio of maids with mops and buckets noticed them and quickly popped back into the room they'd just finished cleaning. The Reeve saw that, too. _Tongue wagers._ But no problem. In a louder voice he ordered, "See to it that this furniture has been dealt with… to Lady Cheri's satisfaction… as soon as possible. One _simple_ person…" Oh, yes. He'd just called him an idiot. "…Such as this one standing here, cannot do the task alone. And damaging her property is not an option."

And, with that, the Reeve was off with a peacock strut.

An awkward moment passed. It seemed as though the burly assistant almost recognized Lin, scratching his chin and leaning down to get a clearer look, and Lin could feel himself starting to sweat. Yes, they'd eaten at the same table a few times. This assistant loved beef stew and rolls. Still, that information wouldn't benefit him right now. Lin had to think of something else before the castle fell into chaos and he might be caught.

"I-I'm not the strong type. Do you mind helping me? Really? " Lin asked, smiling his best. He gave a cute wink that seemed well-received.

"Yeah, sure… I'll get this down the stairs," he said, taking over the pushing from Lin. Their hands touched briefly and Lin pretended to blush.

That worked well, too.

"Ummm…Where do ya want it?"

A bright, toothy smile in the assistant's direction. "Oh, uh…" He pretended to be flattered. "Oh, you mean the armoire? Outside…there's a horse and cart waiting."

"For this old thing?"

Lin pretended to look left and right. Castle gossip was the next best thing to sex. "It's a gift for a new lover."

A nod of understanding. "Yeah, but it sure is heavy. What does she have in here, a body?"

And the two of them laughed as the armoire made its way for the castle exit.

"You know, you say the funniest things."

"Do I?"

"Yeah."


	24. Chapter 24

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Chapter 24

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"It doesn't hurt me.

You wanna feel how it feels?  
You wanna know, know that it doesn't hurt me.

Do you wanna hear about the deal I'm making?"

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-_Running up That Hill_, Track and Field

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Murata dug his fingers in. Shaking the young woman, hoping for a response, was the easiest thing he could think of doing. Words. Warmth. A sign of life, a spark in her eyes. He needed something like that or he'd have to employ… No, he'd already guessed back in the hallway with Shinou at his side what he'd have to resort to now.

It crossed the line he'd placed between himself and The Original King. But it couldn't be helped. This was what was necessary. And, as sage, it was also a part of his purpose.

As much as he hated it.

"I'm going to try to help. Do you understand?" Murata explained, determined.

"Tilt your head this way," he said mostly to himself now, his tone clinical. Having one way conversations always sickened him inside—even back during the days when he lived his life as a doctor. It meant that there would be one of two possible outcomes. Well, "death" always comes in the end, but he tried to delay that "end" for as long as possible. There were good ways to die and bad ones, Murata knew. He'd suffered both types, himself, many times over—cursing Shinou's name as the last word on his lips more than once.

And, now, with Shinou and this _person_...

Once, again, a triangle. Once again, three of them—himself, Shinou, and a woman. Could he not escape this pattern? Was there no end?

"Damn, not breathing."

With purpose, Murata took her into his arms and gently placed his mouth over hers. The sage concentrated, holding in check every emotion he was feeling, those that he inherited—the ire, sorrow, loneliness, and dejection—and focused on his determination to set things right again. A gradual build-up of energy stirred within Murata's being. It formed, along the way, a warm string of power extending up and out of him. It flowed from the sage's lips and into the woman's.

Murata spread his palm wide against her back—each finger sending in small sparks and zaps. He winced and broke contact once, getting a nasty shock he wasn't prepared for. His lips tingled and he rolled them. He'd try again, though. And, pushing their lips together, Murata closed his eyes and gave it another go. This time, he also pushed his tongue in slightly to make the flow of energy swifter.

The body moved on its own—the arms shifted slightly and the eyes blinked a few times. A breath and another followed it.

"I hate being your battery, Shinou," he rasped, looking at her, but his face didn't reflect the anger he'd hoped that it would.

"Sorry" was a sigh, but it took the edge off the sage's concern. Looking very put upon, Murata stretched her body out on the table and he did the same with himself—now staring into each other's eyes as lovers often do.

"Come here," Murata said grumpily, taking her into his arms and cuddling to give more body heat. She was so cold. Wool blankets would have been better but there were none. "It's going to take more than a simple 'kiss' to recharge you and fix this mess." He hated himself for what he was going to suggest next, but he felt it only right under the circumstances. "Shinou, can you possess me? I'll lower my shields…let you in, so that this woman is free of you."

"Jealous?" was rasped in a sickly tone and Murata frowned.

"Not funny."

A slight groan was followed by "Truth?"

"If you're capable of it," the sage quipped, pulling a feminine body even closer and wondering how long this would really take. He needed to help get their Royal Consort back. A sage really should be by the king's side right about now.

"A lovely prospect but…the act of leaving…would kill her." Several breaths followed before continuing: "This one's body is…damaged…in many ways. Healing would take time… if I'm _capable_… Time allowing…maybe, not enough…" The voice was weak but a smile flickered. Murata wondered if this was all a lie. And then Shinou's voice chuckled lightly instead of his host's voice. A small, feminine hand was raised slightly and Murata could see, for the first time, hideous blisters bubbling up on bright red skin. Soon, they would burst and ooze.

Yuuri had been in danger. And, because of that, there had not even been enough time to adequately shield this host's skin before casting.

"Hell, Shinou" Murata groaned in disgust. "If that's just a hand, I don't want to know what the rest… on the inside…looks like." And her entire core could be just as bad.

"It is unfortunate." Blue eyes struggled to come to the forefront, but gave in and faded. Shinou smirked slightly at his failure. "I'm having her sleep…and I've done my best… to block any pain that her body feels. But…but it is troublesome." A deep breath was let out slowly. "If I try too hard, this body…forgets… how to breathe."

Murata could feel his resentment deepen, taking a hold of him. "Of course, it does… You selfish, selfish king…" He stretched his body out, pulled Shinou's host into a position more relaxed for her, and rested her head at an angle where kissing would be more comfortable.

"You sound like the Original Sage…when you say that." The words were almost whispered.

"Shut up."

"I am… 'all talk' and…will never be a true hero in your eyes…my sage."

"I told you to stop talking. You're wasting your strength."

"Hn…" The breathing slowed and the cold body slumped.

Murata's eyes widened at that. He did his best to sound irritated which was normal between them. Hadn't the Original King put him through enough? "Kiss me now and get this over with. Then again… One, alone, won't do. That's obvious. We'll just have to keep at it until…"

Shinou smirked slightly at the sage's calculated words but said in a more serious tone, "But…maybe…letting us go now… would be the kinder thing to do. She doesn't mind dying with me… and I can be with her…when she fades from this world." A sad, slow blink. "You could be happy for us…and enjoy your freedom at last."

Murata tried to block out the image of Shinou and Rufus—hand in hand—asking the court to be happy for them while the Original Sage looked on wearing his usual mask of indifference.

But, then, another thought occurred to him.

This was not the same. This was different.

He had not been discarded.

"Then, the two of you really did climb all of those stairs just to see me one last time." It couldn't have been easy. It had to have been a struggle and an excruciating one—both frigid and burning. A body suffering from fire and ice from a single blast of power.

A lingering desire to see the very person who didn't want you.

A slight nod.

This had not been a plea for help. This was goodbye.

"She doesn't mind it…and I don't… _Murata Ken_ …"

It took Murata's breath away. _He used my name!_

The sage pressed his face into the curve of her neck with the words "As always… As always…" repeated to himself like a mantra.

The cycle… Their cycle… How many times?

_NO! Not again!_

Then, Murata's face neared and their lips were close. In a dark, almost sexy tone—the type that Shinou would love best and would listen to—he said, "Of course, she wouldn't mind… To die alongside a handsome saint, as she sees you, is a simple task. Others have followed you into death before. But to live life…through joys and sorrows…through anguish…takes much more bravery and faith in the future."

And then, taking a fist-full of hair and guiding the sweet face hear him, Murata gave a searing kiss and embraced the body against himself.

This time, Shinou would not call the shots. He would.

Consequences be damned.

They were damned.

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* * *

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The modest, oak wagon rambled its way down the road with the glowing lights of Blood Pledge Castle growing smaller and dimmer in the background. The way was hard and uneven—littered with gravel crushed under heavy wagon wheels. And the cheap lantern perched on the end of a long tree branch did not shed much light. Still, when Lin looked at his simple wagon with the armoire resting in the back of it, he was not too disappointed in his catch. True, they were not traveling in style. But, that could wait until later—payday.

There was no one else on the road, and he hoped that it would stay that way. His young horse was a bit skittish—ears shifting forward and back—waiting for the slightest noise out of the ordinary. And that was not an unusual expectation at this time of night. The swinging lantern, alone, could draw dangerous animals or ruffians looking for money. If either approached, they would not have such an easy time of it. Lin patted his trouser pocket. He was prepared in more ways than one.

A particularly annoying jumble of "clanging" sounds continued in the distance. Blood Pledge Castle's alarm bells had been ringing for quite awhile now and the starry sky was blurred from time to time with the black shapes of skeletons with bat-like wings outstretched.

Eerily, a group of five swooped up and turned, dancing in the wind like autumn leaves around the castle. Others chose roads and animal trails—following them with the flapping of wings pushing them on. They searched patiently with sockets instead of eyes. New prey, new intentions—such a treat when "existing" replaces "living."

The horse reared slightly, making Lin look all around.

"The Flying Skeleton Tribe," Lin spat angrily, slowing the wagon to a stop and then, thinking quickly, taking an animal trail. After finding a cluster of trees, he parked beside the largest one and prayed the leafy cover at night would be good enough. He had to blow out the candle when a dark shape in the sky approached the road he'd been traveling on. "Loyal to Mazoku to a fault…those assholes. Why couldn't they just die and stay dead like everybody else?" he fretted, crouching low behind a prickly shrub. "If I catch one, I'm going to bury it," he gritted.

It was coming. He could feel it.

Leathery flapping.

The sound of wings soaring by gave Lin the chance to relax his shoulders a bit. The creature had passed him and that was good. He'd wait another minute just to make sure that it didn't come back. He thought he could breathe easily, but the sound returned—closer this time. Or, maybe, it was Lin's imagination. He couldn't be sure. All he could do was stay where he was for the time being.

"This can't get any more inconvenient." And, gradually, Lin stood to his feet. But, when he heard a bizarre snoring sound, he tilted his head up to see a sleeping Hell's Paradise Goala clinging possessively to the branch right above his head. "Damn," Lin muttered, tip-toeing off. "If that nasty bear loses its branch, it will come right for me with teeth bared. And the only reason those things ever come out of the trees on their own is to take a colossal dump." Maybe, that was why this place smelled. "Either way, I'm leaving."

Soon enough, Lin found the unlit lantern and his horse and cart. He would lead the animal on the road for a little while—long enough to make their way from the castle in safety without the need of more light to attract anyone's attention. Starlight would have to do.

At least, that was the plan—for now.

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* * *

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"I don't get it, Conrad," Yuuri worried openly as he pushed wide what felt like the fiftieth heavy, wooden door he'd come across, "Wolfram… Where can he be?" The double black turned and faced his godfather. "I'm really getting scared now."

"I agree," Conrad said, forcing his tone to be calm. "It has been far too long since anyone has seen Wolfram, and no one we've met has noticed a man pushing an armoire."

Yozak gave Conrad a look—_that look_—the one he had on the battlefield numerous times. It said: "The window of opportunity is getting smaller and smaller. What do we do now?"

Yuuri could sense The Maou struggling within his chest. The spirit was uneasy, displeased with the results they were getting. And, so far, Yuuri had done a remarkable job of convincing him that he could handle everything on his own and wanted to as a way of making it up to Wolfram. But, now, Yuuri was starting to doubt himself and The Maou reflected that opinion.

The double black was staring down at his feet, eyes covered in shadow. Conrad, seeing this, stepped nearer and tried to say a few comforting words when Yuuri suddenly blurted out, "I'm not too late! I can't be. I've just, finally, figured everything out. It will be okay. I just need to find Wolf."

"Sir!" A soldier came at a run from around the corner and saluted.

"Yes," Conrad said, stepping forward from their little group. This was one of his brother's soldiers. He recognized the man as someone Gwendal trusted with "unpleasant details." In the military, there was a great need for such valued soldiers who could keep secrets and deal with things discretely. And Gwendal did not grant this kind of trust easily.

"Your Lord Brother requests that you meet him in his quarters along with Yuuri Heika, The Great Sage, and Yozak as soon as possible."

Conrad knew all too well what that meant. Translation: "Meet me in my rooms and discuss nothing with Mother along the way."

The alarm bells stopped clanging all over the castle, leaving an unnerving silence in their wake. Conrad glanced all around him out of habit. Meet with Gwendal? He had to agree on this one. "I think we'd better do as he says."

"Oh, yeah," Yozak muttered a little nervously. He had received the message loud and clear, and he started to sweatdrop at the thought of Lady Cheri getting wind of this. They could hide Wolfram's kidnapping for only so long, too, without her bustling her way in. And despite the woman's sweet façade, she could be The Devil himself when worried about her youngest child. And, when she was livid, no one could console her. And it was far too easy to see where Wolfram got his fire wielding abilities—and his temper.

"But, our search!" the double black protested, pointing to the rest of the hallway stretching out before them.

"Kiddo," Yozak began, putting a gentle hand on Yuuri's shoulder, "Lord von Voltaire may have some news for us. And he's asking to see you, too. Didn't you tell us that you wanted to be kept informed about what goes on around here?" He tilted his head to the side to see Yuuri's expression better. "You are king, after all."

The double black bit his bottom lip at that, but could see the reasoning. Maybe, Gwendal did have some information. Maybe, someone saw something and reported it to him. It was impossible to tell until he talked to Gwendal. "O-Okay, let's go." Then, after a few steps, he suddenly looked behind him. "Oi, what happened to Murata?"

Shrugs all around. Nobody knew.

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* * *

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Gwendal stood in the hallway, hair still wet from his interrupted bath. He narrowed his eyes at the group coming his way. The Great Sage wasn't with them and he started debating, within, whether to go on with this meeting or to wait. By Gwendal's side, Günter stood dutifully but with a growing scowl. Günter's feathers had been ruffled by the sudden alarm bells and the fact that Gwendal had not told him anything—not a single detail. In fact, Gwendal had been doing that quite a lot lately. And an explanation was certainly necessary. By hook or by crook, he'd get it soon.

"Oi!" Yuuri called out after running the last few steps in Gwendal's direction. "Have you heard anything?"

"Heard? Heard what, exactly?" Günter asked in a somewhat barbed tone. Another mystery. This was starting to become an unpleasant trend.

Gwendal raised an eyebrow at that and remarked, "It would be best, I believe, to keep our voices down in the hallway. Let's go inside."

Conrad and Yozak were in agreement with that. In a castle, the walls had ears and eyes. In this particular case, it could go for them and against them.

At that moment, though, Gissela von Christ skirted past everyone wearing a long bathrobe and dripping wet, green hair cascading down her back. She had hoped no one she knew would notice her on the way to her room, but that was not the case. She grinned broadly at everyone, met eyes with Gwendal briefly, and waved a little "toodle-loo" as she made her escape.

"Wait! Was that my daughter just now…and…" Günter couldn't finish the sentence. Mortified, he covered his eyes briefly instead.

"Well, she is of age," Yozak whispered to Conrad. "And she is…knowledgeable…"

"Not the time to point that out..."

"Eh?" Yuuri scratched his head. "I don't get it."

"I believe you," the spy quipped.

Gwendal coughed into his fist uncomfortably and said, "I see the sage isn't here. So, let's just go into my quarters and discuss Wolfram. There are things you need to know." He unlocked the door with his key and the others filed in behind him.

"You know, I'm almost afraid to go in there now," Yozak whispered to Conrad again. "I have no idea what I'll see."

"I'm almost inclined to agree with you."

Günter folded his arms against his chest. "Well, I'm going to have a very long talk with certain someones when I get the chance."

Gwendal shut the door. "I don't think we'll have the time." He, then, lifted open an old, wooden trunk lid and took out a large, folded-up map of Shin Makoku. Placing it on the desk that was once his father's, he unfolded it with pruned hands fresh from the bath. "Here's what we know from reports we've been getting throughout the castle…"

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* * *

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The armoire doors were roughly opened and lamplight flooded in—revealing Wolfram's vulnerable, pale form.

"_Finally_, the cargo is here, I see," grumbled a man who was wearing faded and tattered soldier's clothing. He had a leather eye patch over his left eye and deep acne scars on his cheeks. The human's hawkish nose and thin lips made even the slightest glance almost predatory. Lin didn't let it bother him too much. He'd dealt with these types before.

"Yes, we have exactly what was ordered," Lin agreed amicably.

"And the others? Your associates?"

"Not coming," Lin said with meaning behind it. Everyone understood. "Now, we can head to the coast and be there before the light of day." Wearily, he sat down on a three legged milking stool and propped his aching feet up on a second stool nearby. He noted that his ankles looked swollen. Lucky him.

"No, we can't."

"What?" An unpleasant look was aimed at his contact. The man and his cohorts had the muscle and the connections to get them back to Big Cimaron, true enough. But their role was just to grease the wheel. If necessary… "Payne, what do you mean 'can't?' I walked here half the night…leading a skittish horse that hates the least little thing that makes noise." He wasn't about to mention The Flying Skeleton Tribe being after him, too. People like these were not that understanding and could be more skittish than the horse.

"Too bad," the man returned and gave a haughty laugh for the sake of his men's morale. They were lounging around the abandoned barn, playing dice and trading "sketch cards" of nudes, but were, in all actuality, paying close attention to the conversation.

"Explain," Lin demanded, now taking in the number of men around him and wondering if dealing with all eight of them would be a necessary but unpleasant task. He could certainly take with him more profit if he did. On the other hand, the brutes had more strength than he did and, should Lord Conrad Weller and Lord von Voltaire discover him, leaving in a hurry would be essential. Lin knew his associates would make for a fine distraction—as well as sword fodder.

Nevertheless, it would be simpler to still be traveling right now—traveling together.

"My bones tell me that a storm is coming."

The men around Lin muttered in agreement, supporting Payne's statement in a bored or blasé fashion. Lin searched their faces. Not a single one of them seemed in doubt about the bizarre report of bad weather based on Payne's skeleton.

"This is a joke, right?" he deadpanned.

From the corner, a balding man with tufts of short, grey hair protruding from his ears spoke up. "Oh, no. He speaks the truth. When Payne tells ya that a storm is coming, you'd better heed the warning."

"_Right_," Lin returned, scratching the side of his nose casually. "Please forgive me if I find this a little farfetched. And, frankly, I'm more than a bit surprised to hear this coming from you, Payne." In the lamplight, Lin's face slowly took on a leaner expression and his teeth sharper. "After all, you were the one who kept sending me those messenger pigeons telling me to hurry up. And, now that I'm here with the 'prize,' you're telling me to stay where I am..." He neared Payne and gave a cold, direct stare. "How much time do we have? Who can tell? All I know is that our 'cargo' has been noticed missing and there's a whole castle of men who can come after us at any time. If you are prepared to end your days over this pretty toy in the cabinet, I'm glad for you. As for me, I'd rather be on our way with the 'toy' to be taken to his new owner." Lin patted his trouser pocket again out of habit this time, feeling threatened by doing nothing—a lot of nothing. "Or, is it that you want a bigger slice of the pie?"

Now, Lin's eyes took on a high, golden sheen.

"Now, now…" Payne pretended to soothe. He was a bad actor and the men in the barn snickered at that. "We're not asking for a lot. We just want a little more to keep going into the bad weather."

"How much?"

"Ten percent" came with a careless shrug. "And it shouldn't be so bad for you since your associates are no longer a part of the plan." When Payne smiled thinly, his eye patch popped up on his cheek a little, half-exposing a socket that was empty of an eye and had been sealed with a scar-line. Absently, the man straightened the leathery patch and went on, "Does this work for you or not?" He placed a hand on the armoire and leaned.

Lin pretended not to care in the slightest. "I don't mind traveling in 'bad weather' as long as you have the forged papers to get us back to Big Cimaron…and the 'help' necessary to lift that thing." He gestured to the armoire. Why break his own back over such a trivial matter as toting it?

Lin got a few dark looks from the men in the room for being referred to as "the help" but Payne gladly accepted the new terms and held out a bony hand to shake. "Then, we're good in a storm." He turned to the thugs in the room. "Okay, let's get this old nag and cart on the road. Dan, you get the wagon with the food and water. You never know when we're going to be "hungry" again. Of course, the food wagon held another thing—a hidden compartment with weapons. They hadn't been just sitting around, twiddling their thumbs, waiting for Lin to come with his "toy." They had been doing a little business on the side and the weapons they stole from travelers and local businesses came in very handy.

Very handy, indeed.

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* * *

.

An older Mazoku maid with a bristly broom and dustpan in her left hand made her way down the hallway. She was walking with her head bent down slightly and pocketing the master set of keys for that hall into her apron.

Spying Gwendal's soldier about to pass her, she stopped and greeted him with a smile that was a bit too wide. "Hello, good sir. Is there something I may help you with this evening?" She batted her light green eyes at him curiously.

He pruned his face at that. Clearly, he outranked her in so many ways. Still, she was offering help and Yuuri Heika, not to mention Gwendal von Voltaire, would not approve of rudeness to a lady—of any age.

He lifted his chin, trying to come across as "official" and that attitude usually worked well with the staff. "No, I'm searching for someone and I need to find him soon."

He stepped to the side and, just as though dancing, she did likewise.

"I may be of help."

"I sincerely doubt it."

He stepped again and she followed his movements.

This was stupid.

"Look, I would like to search these rooms…for someone…starting with the art studio over there." His face hardened and he added the words, "If you don't mind."

"Ah, The Consort's studio…" she breathed and looked away a little uncomfortably. "Well, it is locked and…no one is supposed to enter and…"

"Then, fetch a key for me." That would get rid of her. All he'd need to do was knock on all of the remaining doors and if The Great Sage answered, it would be a quick way to get him the message to go to Lord von Voltaire's. Thus, problem solved.

She put a hand on her apron pocket. "Ah, that's something I can't do."

A brunette eyebrow arched. "I thought you said you wanted to help." This woman was getting irritating and he needed to finish this task quickly.

"I do."

"Then, why…in the name of The Great Shinou…can't you help?"

She toed the floor uncomfortably. "If I tell you, it will be gossip and I don't want you to report back to Lord von Voltaire that I'm such a woman…because my reputation matters to me and… You understand about that kind of thing, right?"

"Enough, enough." He put a hand up to shut her up. "If I promise not to tell what you're telling me to anyone, will that satisfy you?"

She brightened. "Yes, sir. I have been told you are a kind and honorable man." Well, actually she had not been told anything, but the standard line worked wonders in the castle. The higher ranking people loved to have their egos stroked.

And, by the look on his face, he bought it: hook, line, and sinker.

"Fine, then. Tell me what it is…"

She gestured for him to follow her. "This way, sir and please be quiet…" The maid then pressed a finger to her lips.

He didn't like being told what to do but followed her nonetheless. Anything to get this over with. And, when she knelt by the art studio door, he did as well.

"I saw… So, I closed and locked it with the master key…"

"Saw what?" he muttered.

"Look through the keyhole." She gestured to the opening and Gwendal's soldier peeped through.

Inside, The Great Sage of Shin Makoku was lying with a beautiful girl on the long art table. Her blouse was opened down the front and spread wide. He was tracing strange, glowing paths across her heart and down her arm while kissing her. Every few seconds, he'd stop, pull back, and stare into her eyes… and begin again.

And moan into the next kiss…

The soldier stood up and dusted himself off. "You know," he said quietly, "I think you and I never really searched this hall… Totally forgot…"

She gave a quick curtsey to that.

"Is your work done for the day?" he whispered.

"Yes, sir."

"Go fetch yourself a coffee. I'm going to the library. Maybe, The Great Sage is there." He strolled away with a little spring in his step.

She grinned inwardly at that and then shuffled off. "Yes, sir."

It was nice to know that someone in the castle was about to get lucky (even if it was a bit kinky on the table). And a little privacy was more than what was needed.

.

* * *

.

Günter, like the others, stared down at the map. Though, even now, his arms were still folded against his chest and he was feeling very put out. If he was being edged out of the upper echelon, the trusted circle around Yuuri Heika, he was going to know exactly why that was happening. And they would all have to work this out somehow because he loved the life he had been living up until now.

"We know a few things," Gwendal said, stabbing a finger where Blood Pledge Castle was on the map. "The last time Wolfram was seen was in the art studio with Yuuri Heika and our kidnapper."

"Lin," Yuuri growled, frowning up from the map and into the faces of the people around him. Gwendal felt his heart stop when, for a fraction of a second, he saw Yuuri's pupils flick into dark, snake-like slits. The administrator bit back his extreme discomfort and carried on. He had to out of necessity and, now, he knew that it was not just "meek" Yuuri Heika who he was dealing with but The Maou side, too.

This could be both a blessing and a curse.

"This 'Lin' person," Gwendal went on, "probably took Wolfram away in a wooden armoire and wheeled him out of the castle with some assistance."

Yuuri disagreed. "No, I'm pretty sure he was working alone by this point."

Gwendal shook his head. "He found help. Apparently, our new reeve's assistant was more than accommodating. And, it has been reported, the two were busy placing the armoire in the back of a cart around the time that everyone was rushing up the stairs to rescue Wolfram."

"So, Wolfram's not in the castle anymore," Conrad said, staring down at the map again.

Yozak did likewise asking, "Any clues as to what direction they took in the dark? It would have to be slow going without a full moon. And a simple horse and cart… Well, it's not exactly a speedy warhorse we're talking about."

Gwendal traced his finger from the main gate leading out from the castle to the nearest road. "The guards who usually watch the gate all, strangely, had a terrible bout of diarrhea after eating brownies from the kitchen. That left only two guards on call who could take over at such short notice and…"

"And?" Yozak prodded.

"We found them tied up and covered in sleeping powder."

Yozak's mouth became a thin line. "I'm not surprised."

Yuuri rested both hands on the desk and leaned in more, trying to figure things out. His mind was starting to race. This was too slow. Wolfram was gone! "Anything else?" demanded.

"Something strange," Gwendal acknowledged. "We sent out members of The Flying Skeleton Tribe to search the area from above." Gwendal moved his finger to another point on the map. "One of them saw a dim light along this road."

"Good! Now, we're getting somewhere!" Yuuri said.

"Maybe," Conrad cautioned. He hated doing that, but he didn't want Yuuri to get his hopes up this soon and this quickly.

"After two passes, the light seemed to not be there anymore. Others of the tribe have searched in different directions, but the results were zero. This seems to be our only clue."

"Well, it would be a reasonable choice, taking this road, if Lin wanted to head back to Big Cimaron as quickly as possible. Catching the tide would be the next step to take if a boat is ready, that is," Yozak reasoned, scratching his chin.

"Then, let's go!" Yuuri said, enthused.

"Sire," Günter jumped in, trying to make himself useful with a dose of common sense that was needed at this point in time, "it is unwise to travel at night. It would be far more effective to search at dawn when one can actually see the road and ride at greater speed."

"He is right," Conrad agreed.

Yuuri gave an uncharacteristic frown of anger to the two of them. "You can't expect me to just sit around and do nothing."

Günter seemed almost appalled at it, but Conrad gave a slightly crooked grin. "He really means something to you now, doesn't he?"

There was a slight blush to Yuuri's face, but the look aimed at Conrad was unwavering. "Wolfram loved me first and I was slow…and stupid. I hurt him. I made him suffer. I know I did. But, the truth is that Wolf is mine, a precious gift. He is married to me and I'm taking him back." The double black held up his hand with the wedding band on it. "He will share my bed and my life because we both wish it."

Gwendal pinched the bridge of his nose. He could feel a migraine coming on. He was, for some reason, perfectly fine with the idea of his baby brother married to the king. But, he didn't want to have his imagination wander any further than that. Maybe, he was a bit of a hypocrite for seeing things that way. But it was the truth. "Could we _not_ discuss sharing beds and just form a plan for finding Wolfram?"

"Yeah!" Yuuri said, now back to his bright and almost innocent self. It was strange how Yuuri could do that now.

"Good," Gwendal sighed impatiently, giving everyone a haggard look. "Here is what I suggest…"

.

.


	25. Chapter 25

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Chapter 25

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"Fear is pain arising from the anticipation of evil."  
~ Aristotle

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Morgif was sheathed and strapped to Yuuri's hip now. He heard the sword moan considerably about being awakened far, far too early in the morning. Or was it the middle of the night? The demon sword had been stored in the Treasure Room—this time, contentedly sleeping next to a dusty oil portrait of Royal Mistress Jolenta frolicking in The Royal Bath.

The double black ignored the complaints and the portrait. He told himself he didn't care that the Eighteenth Maou had a taste for redheads even though he had a perfectly good wife standing dutifully by his side and that there were five children depending on him. But Yuuri had to admit one thing to himself as he turned his eyes away. Wolfram's fears of being tossed aside or being cheated on right in his own home, Blood Pledge Castle, were more than justified because they had happened before. Such things were commonplace here. In fact, cheating on the side was considered normal for aristocrats and royalty alike. Here was the evidence and even more could be found in the Royal Library. He'd even studied it thanks to Günter's insistence. And, even in Japan, some high profile politicians and business CEOs had two families as well—keeping one wife as a trophy and the other one for nighttime pleasure.

If he had done that, had chosen to live a double life, would Wolfram have responded in kind? To have made a choice of his own—to sacrifice everything he was or ever believed in so that he could stay by "his Yuuri's" side? Would he? It was impossible to tell. _No… No, not impossible._ Yuuri glanced down at his wedding ring. Wolfram had been taking small steps to let go—to simply _accept_ and move away. It was not for his own sake, but for the both of them.

_Wolfram knew I was pathetic and that I didn't want to hurt anyone. _

Staying in a holding pattern was what Yuuri could deal with, live with, in the hopes that something or someone better would come along.

The double black fisted his left hand. "The lies stop here," he mumbled to himself only to hear his sword laugh at him in mockery and distain. How many maous had promised _that_ to themselves? Apparently, Morgif knew.

"Shut up. I mean it."

He did mean it.

Another laugh—this one almost lecherous. Morgif was eyeing the portrait again. Vivacious nudes were so much fun.

Yuuri turned back to the door where Conrad was waiting. Yuuri was aware that Yozak, Gwendal, Günter, and several others were either packing or waiting for orders on what to do next. The good part, the part that made Yuuri more confident, was that they had a plan and that plan of action had to take place now. No more waiting. He only prayed that things would work out.

Everything had to. He would make it happen. Yuuri swore it despite his sword laughing at him again.

"Morgif, I told you to shut up."

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* * *

.

Tired eyes blinked open and Murata was thankful to see blue come to the forefront once more. The sage had tried so hard to reenergize the body he was holding and he wondered if, this time, he had failed.

"Bhanga…"

"Shinou?" Murata brushed away short pieces of hair from blue eyes staring up, fixed. With no response, he tried to focus his mind—searching to find his spiritual tie with Shinou once more. He had to make a much greater effort than usual, it seemed, using the Thread of Fate which bound them intimately. Then again, for the most part, it was The Original King who had always reached out to him. A mind: young at heart, arrogant, and familiar. The sage hated and loved it—that sweet tingle.

"Bandhan…"

"Wake up, Shinou." He patted the face lightly. "You really need to come back. Speak to me. Focus."

A shaky breath was taken in and released. The sage felt better about that. And, then the face turned to the side and blinked a few more times. The eyes searched the room vaguely as the head turned. "So…it's you again…"

"It's me," Murata confirmed, wiping the sweat from his brow. "It was 'touch and go' there for a minute."

A slight groan. "Foolish of you…"

"Yes, I suppose." He pushed his glasses up on his nose with a finger.

"You could have been dragged in with us… Died with us…"

Murata rolled his eyes at that—pretending not to care, trying to rebuild that secure wall between them once more.

Regardless, Shinou was not deceived at all and a small, wavering hand reached up to stroke Murata's weary face. The eternal bond between them. It was still there and Murata could feel it growing stronger now. There was a knot in his chest drawing him in, pulling him down to Shinou…for a kiss…

Murata really was powerless against him—against that. If he could just get angry again. If he could just _hate_ again, it could create some safe distance. But letting go of his hate would be the same as letting go of Shinou. And some part of his soul simply could not do it no matter how hard he tried.

"There will be… too much death…on this day as it is."

This time, Murata blanched. Of his own accord, he leaned in with a growing, stern expression at those words. Shinou did not proclaim the coming of death lightly and it seemed that he had insight into who it was. _This does not bode well_, Murata told himself grimly. "Then, explain. Give me a name or some details. Tell me how to avoid what is to come. And, if that cannot be done, tell me how to help those left behind withstand the pain of loss."

Shinou rested himself for a moment. Really, his sage had the unpleasant habit of peppering him with questions when he was not exactly at his best. The Original King looked up into an insistent face. "Are you not the one… who once said… knowing too much of the future… is a curse?" Did that make him cursed? Yes, he was. They both were. Murata's pained, dark eyes said that much.

"You're not answering my questions, Shinou."

"I know. And the future is not written… It flows and changes like water…So…"

"Is it Shibuya?" he interrupted.

Shinou glanced away. "I have a request of you…"

The sage's breath hitched.

"I just asked, 'Is it Shibuya?' and I'd like an answer." Murata's arms shook slightly and Shinou wasn't sure if his sage was even aware of it happening. The Original King decided to take pity on him. Or, maybe, it was the simple fact that denying his sage anything was a monumental task.

Blue eyes closed briefly and opened again. "Pieces…"

Murata understood that answer. It meant that Shinou had, through his power, experienced jumbled pieces of what was to come. It happened every so often. Sometimes, he saw images. At other times, words or feelings floated to him. But, if Shinou saw the black aura of death in a future event, that was something he always tried to share with his sage. They were, like it or not, a 'team' of sorts and Murata, being of the "flesh time" (as Shinou often referred to it), could use his reason and think ahead—and react—much faster, without doing damage, than Shinou could in his spirit or chibi forms.

The eyes heightened to a brighter blue with pupils having snake-like slits, remembering. "Lord Conrad Weller…Lord Gwendal von Voltaire…Lord von Christ…Yuuri Heika… my descendant…soldiers…ambush… All together, but the return journey…will have a different fellowship…" Eyes sliced a look at Murata. "You cannot save anyone…my sage… Not your fate… Not your calling to be a savior…"

"There has to be a way," Murata told him, determined to use his wisdom from the ages to create a better outcome. What good was having lifetimes and lifetimes of memories? He was a walking library, if nothing else.

"Free will, fate, and fantasy… All are strong…in their own ways…but all must come to an end." A small hand threaded itself with Murata's. Whether or not it was for comfort, Murata could not tell.

"An existence will end… A cycle will end… Everything that has ever been…will, at some point, die."

He shook his head. "But!"

"With the exception of us…beings against the natural order…" Shinou sighed against Murata's warm chest. Hadn't they discussed this one hundred times? Apparently, they needed to again. "Yet, we are necessary…for now…for we have a reason for being…" The eyes narrowed as though peering into something. "But, in time, even we…"

"I…understand," Murata said halfheartedly, scooping the small body into his arms. This news was grim, but he had another issue to attend to first. "We should get going. Now that you're stable, I'm taking your host to the infirmary. I think Gissela can help this 'woman' if you know what I mean. I'll make up a story that she got too close to lightning or something… By now, everyone has heard of the tale of Shibuya falling from the window and the blast of light in the sky."

A cheeky grin. "Word travels fast…"

"Shall we go?"

A nod and there was no argument when the slender body was taken higher into the sage's arms. Murata half expected a perverted comment, but that was not the case and he felt concern creeping into the back of his mind again. A weakened Shinou was not something he as comfortable with. That was not how they were together.

"Oh, and another thing, Shinou."

"Yes?" was sighed.

"Forget words like 'bhanga' and 'bandhan.' Stick to a more modern language or the healers will guess that you're in there."

An almost bitter chuckle. "Of course…"

"After that, I think I should find Shibuya. He may need me."

Another nod and Shinou rested a head against the sage's shoulder. "Even now… they are…preparing to leave. So, you must hurry."

"I'll do my best…"

"Stay by the fire wielders," Shinou advised in a tired whisper. "You will be needed in the days to come and their company…will be the safest…on this journey…"

And, with that, the two of them made for the door only to discover it closed and, strangely, locked.

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* * *

.

With more of them on the road, the traveling was slower than expected with the armoire and, unfortunately, the nighttime cover that they'd banked on made vague promises of coming to an end. Worse yet, twice they had to stop.

The first time was because of a strange growling sound that they couldn't identify or even trace the direction of. Payne, posturing in his role as leader, tried to brush it off as nothing, but the others insisted on lowering the lamplight, taking swords from their "stash," and lying in wait near the wagons for a possible attack.

Lin observed the group with some disquiet. These men didn't seem as knowledgeable about swords as Payne had implied in that pub when he had first hired them. Just from the cowardly way they held their weapons, it was more than obvious that they were amateurs with muscular arms and little brains to speak of. But, even inept amateurs could be deadly under the right circumstances. And 'friendly fire' was always a possibility.

More and More, Lin was becoming dissatisfied with his current situation.

Idiots were a problem and problems needed solutions.

Badly.

This time, Lin was sitting on a rotting log along the edge of the dirt road with a lamp glowing next to him. The horse pulling the armoire had been spooked again and had thrown a shoe. Lin had insisted upon having a new horseshoe on the animal. Payne, trying to pull rank, wanted to let the horse take the load anyway, letting it become lame in the end. This was where Lin became stubborn, folded his arms against his chest, and refused to go further. It was all an act to appear obstinate, but a good one and he got some surprised reactions from the idiots around him.

But it made sense. After all, why did Payne call all of the shots? Such posturing from a dead common, uneducated dolt was getting tedious.

Lin's official story? He had a contact at Grey Crane. And he had plans on quickly selling the armoire, wagon, and horse when he no longer needed them. A lame horse was no good. He could only sell it for cheap meat and that was not what he wanted. He was losing enough profit out of this deal already.

"That's all well and good but I thought you said we had to be in a hurry. Who knows who…if anybody…is after us?" Payne tried in a slick tone. He placed one hand against the armoire and leaned heavily on it. The old wood groaned slightly.

"Then, you'd better make it fast," Lin quipped.

He leveled a stare. "With what, then?"

With a stubborn pout, Lin took out his burlap sack of tools and supplies from the right corner of the cart (Yes, he suspected that putting on a new shoe would be a possibility based on the quality of the horse he was getting.) and tossed it on the ground, insisting that the work be done. So, now, Mr. "Hair-in-Ears" was openly grumbling about doing work not in his job description while everyone else took a much deserved break and a piss.

The armoire rocked slightly on its own and Payne turned to Lin with a threatening glare that would have made lesser men jump out of their skins. He thumbed at their cargo with a long, yellowed nail protruding. "You sure you have that fire devil under control? He can light that armoire on fire and cause us some bother if you've done a bad job."

Feeling chilled to the bone not to mention drained and annoyed did not exactly put Lin in the best frame of mind. But he chose to bury his feelings down deep and to keep a placid expression on his face. "I am a professional. Don't be concerned in the slightest. He's tied up tight." And then a short laugh just to get his point across. "Rumor has it that he gets seasick on water voyages and stays huddled in one place…or vomits over the railing. Even if he got out, he couldn't get far on a ship." That "vomit" part, he noticed, seemed to help in the debate even if the rest of the facts didn't. Then, Lin added, "Once he's stepped foot on human lands, he won't be able to light even a birthday candle with his magic. And we'll just hand him over to the interested party. No worries."

Payne, satisfied but needing to appear skeptical, gave the armoire another dour look. "Hmmm… If you say so…"

"I do."

Payne lifted his face towards the sky and, almost on cue, his men did likewise. "Well, I hope it turns out as easy as you say…for your sake."

There was a not so subtle threat there, but Lin chose to pay no heed to it. "I know, Payne" Lin sighed impatiently. "A storm is coming…"

"Yeah…that, too. Just how bad, I dunno."

Lin put his elbow on his thigh and his cheek in his palm. "Sure, we'll just go with that."

.

* * *

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During his brief periods of wakefulness, Wolfram could sense his body being moved—pulled in a singular direction. There were rambling 'starts' and 'stops,' too, that seemed to nudge his mind into a kind of short-lived, almost alert state.

It was happening again and Wolfram debated, briefly, whether to fight it or not. Slowly, he was coming back to himself. The pain never left him, though. The burning sensation at the throat was torturous, but having only a feeble connection to his element was the worst.

_I want…out…_

But it was more than that. The blond was struggling with himself. He didn't want to remember, but he did. He had to hold on to something. Recollections…disjointed. A sudden flash of Yuuri's face gone before he could capture it properly in his heart.

A desire for home…but at what price?

_No…can't…_

A new, growing temptation was there. If he tried, he might be able to resign himself to his fate and escape everything through sleep—a rough, poor sleep that would probably drain him even more than the jeweled hemp rope.

A huge bump rattled him. Maybe, they'd hit a pothole.

Green eyes opened half-lidded.

Darkness.

He was in darkness.

Wolfram could feel himself breathe. _So, I'm still alive…for the moment…_

He could smell the sweet wood and, vaguely, sense the walls around him. He was trapped. Had he been more alert, he might have panicked at that. Wolfram's arms and legs were crammed in tightly. Moving was uncomfortable. Not moving was even more so. The blond tried shifting his weight by rolling. Surprisingly, the armoire seemed to rock, but nothing came of it.

He collapsed again, feeling raw—taking more agonizing breaths than before. Pain, cold and numbing pain, was his reward for trying this, for trying…_something_. Frustrated, Wolfram bit his lower lip until he tasted something metallic.

Blood.

Maybe, a drop of it fell from his lips. He couldn't tell.

Muffled voices were outside—rough, unfamiliar. From the accents all around, Wolfram was certain that these people were not from Blood Pledge Castle. Strangely, they were not from the same geographic areas, either.

"…Can light that armoire on fire…"

_I wish I could_, Wolfram thought dryly. Burning his way out would be highly dangerous, but it would also, possibly, draw attention to where he was and what was going on. Wolfram knew that his brothers, by now, would have sent out a search party for him. And, if his mother was with them, heaven help the kidnappers. They didn't stand a chance.

"A storm is coming…"

Oh, that was Lin's voice. So, he was still traveling with him.

_Good to know_, the blond thought to himself making a fist. _Good to know._

.

* * *

.

The sky was no longer an inky black, but a brightening navy blue which still had stars embedded in the firmament. Murata allowed his attention to waver for a moment as he rode along next to Yuuri with Conrad on the opposite side acting as bodyguard. Behind them was Yozak, digging into his ear with a pinky finger. Gwendal was there, too, with a serious-looking Günter, who had insisted he come along to 'aid the cause' using his sword in the 'great and honorable matter of retrieving a kidnapped consort'." There were six of Wolfram's elite guard fire wielders riding on the periphery, casting light, as well as six of Gwendal's own hand-picked soldiers who specialized in everything from swordsmanship to archery. Gwendal's men were armed to the teeth, making Yuuri gawk at them upon first seeing them—having, for a moment, a flashback to history and the shogunate era of the Edo period. While the clothing style wasn't the same, the attitude certainly was.

One of Wolfram's elite guard members, Victor Woodward, was swiftly leading the way for their group with a fireball rotating threateningly in his right palm. Any attack from the shadows on either side of the road would, most likely, be aimed at him first. So, he had to keep his wits about him. At the opposite end, following their group, was a fire wielder named Zane Hammond with a much more subdued light peeking through his fingers, keeping an eye on what was ahead of him. He could give out a warning cry if necessary. He was also an excellent wielder in his craft—able to accurately launch fireballs from great distances even though they were not very big. But, what he lacked in size, he made up for in heat.

The men often teased him about that over cards and ale.

All of Wolfram's men were nervous to some extent but made great efforts not to show it. They had to rescue their respected and beloved commander while, at the same time, provide more than adequate protection for Yuuri Heika—someone well known for acting impulsively—and, in doing so, please Lord von Voltaire who was not exactly in a reasonable mood. And, most likely, he'd be taking notes over their performance on this important mission.

Also, Wolfram's men didn't always get along with von Voltaire's men.

"I hope this is the right way," Yuuri fretted and one of Wolfram's fire wielders glanced across at his partner with the look of, "Oh, _now_ he chooses to think of him."

Yozak saw the exchange and understood it.

A white cape flared in the breeze. "If I were using a ship as a means of escape, this would be the route I would travel because it stretches to the southeast, is very rural, and I would reach my destination in a hurry," Günter said knowledgably. He felt a little surprised that his comrades were putting on polite, sometimes gritted, smiles at this. Possibly, they were humoring him for some reason.

"When this is all over," Yuuri whispered to Conrad, "we really need to tell Günter how Lin had been using him."

That got a thin smile of approval.

"I should think," Günter went on with the impression that more information would, somehow, smooth things over again, "the logical destination would be Grey Crane Boardwalk. Many…" and he coughed into his fist, "_connections…_can be made there." He flipped his hair over his right shoulder at that. Surely, Yuuri Heika would respect him now.

"A…grey crane?" Yuuri babbled, trying to keep the conversation light and not going into any unfortunate directions. "That sounds pretty nice."

All heads turned. Everyone gawked at Yuuri. Even Gwendal's men, supposedly prepared for anything, stared uncomfortably. What was their king saying?

Gwendal palmed his face.

Morgif laughed deviously.

"You actually like…_cranes_?" Günter asked with a sweatdrop forming and extra stress in his voice.

"Ummmm…well…" The double black tossed a desperate look to Murata who only grinned back with a devilish look in his eyes.

"Is there a problem with…umm…cranes?" Yuuri asked, wondering what he'd stepped into this time.

"Well…there's nothing particularly…_wrong_…I suppose…" the white caped advisor backtracked, realizing that everyone was now listening in to the conversation. He took out a lace hankie and fanned himself briskly. "You see…" Okay, he was at a loss now as to how to finish the thought with an audience.

"Shibuya," Murata explained in an undertone, "cranes in Shin Makoku are a kind of grayish color with white plumage on their heads shaped like…" He cupped his hand and leaned in the double black's direction. "Phallic symbols…"

Yuuri's eyes bulged and a blush fell across his cheeks.

"Not to mention," the sage went on in a half-whisper, "they pair bond for life but take several seasons of being together for a successful mating. So, symbolically, they're seen as horribly…_horny_."

Yuuri swallowed thickly at that and struggled to keep his face from getting any redder. Then, something caught his eye. It glinted at the edge of the road, half hidden by brush. Silver…a dull brightness…

"What's that?" he asked, pointing.

"A crane?" Murata joked. Then, he saw it, too.

Gwendal raised a hand, motioning for everyone to slow to a stop. He, then, pointed to the green clad soldier closest to him and the man got off his horse.

"It appears to be…" He studied the dirt and, then, the metallic object. "It's a horseshoe, sir. Based on the track it made sliding on the soil, it hasn't been here very long, either."

Gwendal almost smiled. "That will slow them down."

"This may actually confirm that we are going the right way," Murata mused aloud, pointing out tracks made from a cart near the very edge of the road. "It is doubtful that anyone would be joyriding out this way…with nothing else around…this late at night. Not to mention, the nearest village is Grey Crane itself."

"I know we are going the right way," Yuuri said, keeping his hopes up. "We have to be. I just feel it."

He really could. In his heart, it was almost as though he could sense a faint trace of him.

Conrad gave a smile at that to Yozak. A boyish smirk was returned.

"But, over here." Gwendal's man ran a few steps along the dark road and one of Wolfram's men, getting the go-ahead from Conrad, followed at his side, spreading light from a fireball. "Yes… All these footprints…and here, too…" Gwendal's man noted, studying them expertly.

"Without doubt … different sizes…different shapes," Murata agreed. "So, it is more than just Lin we are dealing with."

Yozak got off of his horse and approached the scene, scratching his chin in thought as he went. "Eight men…" His eyes darted to a rotting log resting by the side of the road. "No, there are nine of them total… I'm sure of it."

"Surprise, surprise," Yuuri almost growled. If it was just Lin, like it was back in the art studio, that would have been one thing. But, somewhere along the line, more joined in. Now, having additional people to deal with was quite another task entirely. But, Yuuri was mad at himself, too. He should have expected it. Lin liked having people to help—at least, in the short term. He should have anticipated that from the beginning. "Connections" —dangerous ones. That was the way Lin operated.

"Then, everyone," Gwendal ordered to their group, "ride on! Faster! Faster!" And, riding at top speed, they continued on the road which stretched over a hill and snaked away into blackness.

.

* * *

.

Wolfram wrinkled his nose.

Rising damp.

It was there. It was everywhere, making salt stains on the walls from the floor upwards. There was the grit of it as his body was carelessly flung against a rough, stone wall. And, once the throbbing pain subsided, the blond wondered, vaguely, if he was bleeding from anywhere.

Wolfram could feel damp air touching his face, but he was far too weak to open his eyes. He could hear, though, the conversations around him and he wished by all the gods that he had the strength to strike blindly at all of them.

"It's a 'no go' like I told ya."

"I can't believe this," Lin said, totally losing the pleasant tone he usually carried no matter who he was dealing with.

"My contact at Horn Island, the man with the ship that is supposed to take us on, sent a messenger pigeon. Says that a storm is comin'…just like I told ya." He laughed haughtily at that. "And even the large fishing vessels won't venture out in weather like they've got."

"And it's coming here? Some huge storm?" The tone was disbelieving "I thought you said with the extra money I'm paying you that a little rain was no trouble at all. So, now, it is…a bother…?"

A schemer's chuckle followed by, "Afraid so…"

"And you still expect me to hand over the extra money…?"

"Well, with us both being honorable gents and all… A man's word is a man's contract in this world." It was said next to the blond bishonen's ear. Wolfram could feel his body being straightened up and positioned like a doll. The hemp rope from around his wrists disappeared. Before relief could flood into him, his right arm suddenly stretched high and his wrist was being cuffed to something cold, burning him like frostbite. He inhaled sharply.

"So," Payne continued, "we'll just have to keep him here at Fort Krebs for the moment."

"What are you saying?" Lin almost hissed in disapproval. "The sky is cloudy…missing some stars…nothing much…"

"Be reasonable. I don't see what you're complaining about," Payne almost teased. "Fort Krebs? Burns Castle? What does it matter? They were made by the same builders around the same time anyway." Another laugh. "Besides, Fort Krebs hasn't been occupied in nearly four hundred years. And, even then, it was only used occasionally, there, at the very end, to process prisoners back and forth…humans and Mazoku…traitors and heroes alike…depending on which side you were on. Thus, these special cuffs…"

Wolfram could feel his chin being lifted by a rough hand.

"And this is the perfect prisoner for these cuffs."

There was another low "What?" followed by "Seriously…You've got to be kidding me… There's a world of difference in terms of _where we are and who may be following us_." Lin made great efforts to emphasize those particular points.

The blond fire Mazoku could sense Lin's footsteps walking, pacing uncomfortably back and forth. He was exceedingly unhappy and not in control of the situation.

_Good_, Wolfram thought bitterly.

"Well, it can't be helped for another twelve hours…"

"Twelve?!"

If Wolfram had possessed the strength, he would have laughed. He could just imagine the look on Lin's face.

" And, then, there's the tide to think about. So, we'll just hide out here." A course chortle was followed by, "That should give ya more than enough time to sell off that damn horse and crap that ya wanted to part with so badly…right?"

A dry, callused hand had him. Wolfram felt his left arm stretch up high and a burning cuff clamped onto him. His head jerked and he bit his lip again. The pain was bad.

Apparently, Payne liked the reaction that he saw and laughed at it in a jovial way. "We'll just watch your little boy-toy here, Lin," Payne promised with the hand moving to the blond's shoulder. "I guarantee that he's not going nowhere. But…" And a threatening silence then hung in the air. "Should you _not_ return to join us on this little venture, or you give us away to Yuuri Heika, we're going to 'handle things' with or without your say so."

"Payne, now you see here! I want him in _pristine_ condition while I'm away. So, hands off. That goes for you and your knuckle draggers." The tone was openly hostile now. Wolfram could feel the hand batted away from his shoulder, too.

"Not my type," he countered smugly.

"And, for the record, you're an idiot if you think I won't be back," Lin promised darkly, storming out of the room.

A shuffle of footsteps following the same direction. "See that ya do, Lin. See that ya do."

.

* * *

.

It was an hour later or maybe more. Wolfram still sat in place, legs spread apart and his upper body strung up by his arms. He was trying to sense the room around him without opening his eyes. His soldier's training, particularly the part about being held captive, was coming into play now. The first rule was "Know who you are and find your center" and the second one was "Panic will never help."

The blond didn't react when he heard two voices enter the room from where he guessed a doorway was located. They had to be tall men based on how high up the voices were projected and the deepness told him a rough approximation of age.

The tones, the accents… Without a doubt…

_Humans…_

Wolfram tried not to fall into the same patterns as before—the same ways he felt about humans before Yuuri and Greta had come into his life. Not all humans were bad, but not all of them were good, either.

"Hmmm…Pretty boy, here, seems to still be sleepin'," one observed, now kneeling down next to Wolfram. He tweaked his nose hard, but exhausted Wolfram simply tucked the annoyance into another part of his mind and tried to forget about it.

"Yeah," the second joined in.

Touches. The blond could feel wide hands roaming his body, stroking him through his clothing. Ordinarily, Wolfram would have kicked such perverts in the groin and then set them on fire, but he was in no position to do so. Instead, Wolfram simply hung there, limply, handcuffed to the wall feeling dry to the bone and, at the same time, glad he didn't need to use the privy. It was doubtful they'd let him out to do that anyway. Forcing a prisoner to urinate on himself was, in itself, a form of torture.

One hand got particularly "friendly" with an intimate part of his body and Wolfram made himself think of burnt artichokes—the smell, the look, the taste. Yes, his mother's favorite vegetable. How many times had she threatened to feed him that if he didn't dress up in the frilly clothes she'd bought on a recent vacation? She never actually made him eat the wretched veg, though. Having the kitchen servant put the steaming platter before him at dinner was enough to send him screaming into the seamstress' workshop for a final fitting with a few ruffles added on for good measure. Later, he actually learned to like ruffles and expensive lace if he picked out the pattern.

_Then again, there was that see-through nightgown that one time... Yuuri would have really hated that._ Wolfram almost smirked.

"Nothin," the first voice said. "I thought fire wielders were supposed to be the really 'randy' type. And I've got a very good 'hand' technique, too. I thought I'd get a rise out of him at least, but he must be really out cold."

A cruel snicker in a pig-ish sort of way. "You could 'go for it' anyway."

He seemed to be considering it but then said, "Nah, Payne ordered me to go easy on our toy here. The new owner wants him in 'perfect' condition if ya know what I mean and that Lin character is vile, I tell ya. People who cross him…die."

"No shit? That little weasel?"

"Seriously."

Wolfram could sense both faces coming close to him again, inspecting him.

"Well…Has he got anything on him?"

"Such as…?"

Wolfram wondered that, too. What more could they want?

"Ya know? Black Sprites, nudie cards, or dice?"

_Revolting!_ Wolfram thought and fought to keep his mouth from turning downwards in disgust. _I don't snort Black Sprite dust. I don't need nudie cards. And I'm unlucky with dice._

"Nah, don't think so. I didn't feel nothin' from before."

A tug. "What about this?" the second asked and lifted up the hemp rope. The moment the houseki lost contact with his skin, Wolfram lost control of his body and slumped down against the wall. The feeling of the pain being lifted from his throat was like a godsend. His whole body seemed to float.

"Dunno. It's got some kind of jewels on it, huh?"

A huffed laugh and the sound of the rope being tossed back and forth between the pair.

"More stuff for us, huh?"

"Take it all."

"Never admit to it."

"Unless we're caught…"

Wolfram thought, fading off into a dream, _You can have it. It's yours_…_assholes._

.

* * *

.

Murata rode along and noted the coming of sunrise in the distance. The sky was slowly blooming into a blazing red with clouds that looked like textured cloth. Intentionally, he smoothed out his features and tried to read the expressions of the people around him. With the exception of Yuuri, almost everyone had noted the color with some disquiet.

In this world, almost everyone, soldier and farmer alike, but especially those who lived around large bodies of water, did not particularly like a red sky at morning. It meant a storm and a potentially bad one at that. Murata crossed his fingers and hoped that if bad weather was approaching that it would rain itself out long before reaching land again. If not, the rescue would certainly be more taxing—slick or muddy roads to travel on, searching in the pouring rain, the fire wielders around him being much less effective fighting outdoors, etc.

The road they were traveling on curved once more and a stone sign gradually came into view saying "Grey Crane Boardwalk" flanked by two small marble "traveling gods" shaped like rabbits in religious smocks standing on their tiptoes.

"First cranes and now rabbits," Yuuri noted as they slowed to see where exactly they were.

Murata, whose backside was aching from riding for so long, decided not to waste his breath by bringing up the cute traveling gods and their second meaning: "rabbits" in this context meant that the area was "fertile" (in many senses of the word), had a party culture, and was abundant in alcohol as well as other inebriants. It wasn't the kind of "family place" you'd want to go to but, he suspected, many "families" got started here—especially during the festivals.

A kind of middle class Las Vegas without the flashing lights and glitter and dancing tigers wearing tutus.

"Wolfram's here. I just know it," Yuuri told him. "Now, all we have to do is find him."

"Yeah, simple," Murata could hear himself say with a smile, humoring him. Of course, it wasn't going to be that easy and he could feel the eyes of Gwendal and Conrad upon him. He glanced to the right and could almost read Yozak's face. The spy wasn't sure if he was joking or not. That amused him greatly. If they got out of this mess in one piece, Murata considered the option of yanking Yozak's chain more often in the future.

_It could be amusing._

"Then, shall we try the area around the marina first? If memory serves, the boardwalk itself is not much to look at." Günter suggested politely.

"You've been here before?" Yozak asked curiously. It seemed strange.

"Well, ummm…" the white caped advisor shifted uncomfortably, "…in my youth…with friends…" He looked away. "It was a long time ago and really not worth mentioning."

Conrad smiled knowingly. Hadn't they all lived wild lives at some point in their youth? He wondered vaguely what it was, exactly, that got Günter back on the straight and narrow. Still, that was then and this was now. "We'll attract attention, but I think we should do as Günter suggests anyway," he agreed. "And, while we're there, I'll check to see which vessels have arrived and which have left…or are planning to leave very soon."

"What will I do?" the double black asked, starting to feel left out.

"Keep an eye open for a horse, cart, and armoire being driven by someone you've seen before?" Murata suggested with an eyebrow raised. And, from the hardness and determination in Yuuri's eyes, it was clear that his best friend liked that idea greatly.

"You," Gwendal pointed to another one of his soldiers, the man with the swiftest horse, "scout up ahead. See if there's anything worthy of interest."

A quick smile and a salute as the man rode off quickly, his horse kicking up dust from the road.

"Good idea," Günter complemented as he always did back in the old days. He adjusted his white cape and sword to be more presentable.

"I try," Gwendal returned, his eyes asking, "Are you still mad at me and Gissela?"

Maybe a little, but he was getting over it.

.

* * *

.

Breathing in…and out…

Listening for footsteps and hearing nothing…

_Nothing… Finally…_

Something small scuttled across his hand and Wolfram struggled with himself not to react. Far off, he could make out the echoes of men's voices. It was the usual mixture of banter found in a barracks—talk of bad food, piss warm ale, and back talking strangers on the street. It was bragging mostly with others in the room either whooping it up or calling "What a load of" with the explicative of the day filled in.

He'd heard it all before. Though, he was sure that Gwendal would be extremely unhappy to learn that he'd been exposed to that kind of talk since childhood thanks to their mother's drunken lovers.

Green eyes opened as thin slits. He dared to peek around without much movement of the head, just in case someone was patrolling or simply standing quietly in the doorway.

Apparently, where he was being held was wide, dark, and full of shadows. He had been right about one doorway. There was a sconce and candle in the other chamber, casting just enough light so that there was a bit of visibility where he was being held.

He opened his eyes wider and, feeling reasonably sure that the party in one of the other rooms would keep the men occupied, he took a closer look at his surroundings—this time, it included his arms, the chains, and the cuffs.

With effort, he moved his right arm and wrist. The cuff's surface sparkled like an expensive bracelet. "Oh, that explains it," the blond whispered to himself, his throat still feeling raw from where the hemp rope had been touching it. "Houseki crystals are in the shackles. Good luck getting these off," he sulked.

He told himself that he had to be patient. He told himself that he needed to wait for an opening. If he tried hard enough, something would happen. It always did and he knew that he was not forgotten. Gwendal and Conrad would come for him. Yuuri would probably do something or, at least, try to do something—stupid. But, hopefully, he'd be convinced to stay back at the castle with Günter and The Great Sage as babysitters. In his heart, he hoped for that outcome. If, by chance, no one from Blood Pledge Castle came for him, Wolfram knew that he would still find a way out on his own. He'd find a way back from whatever human land they were planning on taking him to.

Nobody owned him. That, in itself, was a certainty. No matter how many people denied that truth, it was still the truth. Know who you are and find your center. That was the first rule of captivity. And he repeated it in his head as many times as he had to.

Even if it made him mad.

Thump.

Wolfram, finding some minuscule amount of strength, thudded his arm into the stone wall once more in frustration. This time, something like rock salt fell on him and he turned and squinted. "Salt?" It burned against his skin and tumbled away.

He looked at it more carefully and thudded his arm against the wall again. And again. Again. "No, not salt…" Once more. A metallic thudding not too loud or too hard. Just enough to get the job done even though his arms were so tired. "Crystals…falling out…houseki crystals…"

There was something he could do.

Something small.

Taking a break, letting himself hang from the wall, the blond smiled briefly to himself.

_An opportunity_.

.

* * *

.

It was early morning in the village square and Lin was standing next to a weather-beaten sign which said, "Grey Crane Boardwalk" with an arrow pointing. The paint was peeling and it reeked of brine. Briefly, he leaned next to the post on which the swinging sign hung and then pulled his wool hood over his head a little more. He pretended to feel much cooler than he really did by huddling into his cape, rubbing his hands together and then blowing on them. In reality, he was just surveying his surroundings without appearing suspicious.

The sleepy village of Grey Crane was starting to wake up and the baker's shop on the corner was filling the air with the sweet scent of cinnamon bread. The landlord of the Fisherman's Haven, a pub with a large glass window out front, tossed out a drunken bum onto the street, shouting something impossible to make out clearly, while the "mom and pop" merchants further down the road were setting up baskets of colorful vegetables to sell. And a boat, The Vixen, had just lurched in carrying freshly caught tuna. An apple-shaped, middle aged Mazoku woman wearing a stained apron and a hairnet toted two large baskets as she waddled out of the Burt's Fish Fry restaurant to meet the ship. Her face pruned up like a pug's, looking over at the sunrise, and she muttered to herself, "It's wicked, this."

Lin scoffed at her.

The same things done the same way. No matter where he went, life seemed to carry on easily enough if you knew how to blend in.

Getting into the driver's seat, Lin took the horse and drove slowly through the village. This whole time, he'd been sitting on the hooded cape that he was wearing now to act as a padded seat. Without it, the wood was a bit too hard to sit on with each unpleasant bump in the uneven road.

The empty armoire rattled in the back. Now that Wolfram and his collection of herbs and potions had been removed, the thing was almost too light. Or, so it seemed.

Lin continued on and stopped at an intersection to let an old man ramble along, carrying a load of hay. He turned and was now driving his cart directly in front of Lin.

"Best to let there be some distance between us," he said to himself.

Still at the intersection, Lin looked to his right, toward the sound of seabirds. He pretended to take notice of the rickety wooden boardwalk—for which the area was named after. Then, he turned his head in the opposite direction and tried to look interested in the display of meats hanging at the butcher's on the street corner.

He passed three more pubs, a "Naughty Nick's Bookstore," and a closed sweets shop. Nothing. No one. The smug expression returned.

Lin's contact was near the edge of this village. The horse trader's was at the seedier side of town next to a grouping of poorly constructed metal shacks that were said to be gambling dens and a makeshift brothel with a "Black Sprites Burrow."

The drug called "Black Sprites" got that nickname because it was dark, had a tendency to clump, and sparkled in sunlight. It was also a favorite among the "ladies and lords" of the evening and could be traded for services like the local currency. Lin, being an herbalist himself, knew to stay away from Black Sprites and the local prozzies. Combined, the two could lead you down a road to nowhere. And a road to lifetime addiction was never a road to profit.

He patted himself on the back. He was so smart. Everything was going his way.

Whistling a happy tune to himself, he could feel his cart lurch forward and ramble along the dirt road with ease. He wouldn't bargain very hard for what he wanted, money. He'd play the fool to the horse trader, mention in passing that he needed to part with the cart, too, and then ask if he knew of someone who'd like an old armoire because the one in the back of the cart now was his ex-wife's.

Ah, a good story.

Lin glanced to the side again. There was a break in between the buildings where he could make out the water. It was a slate and the waves seemed to be growing bolder. There were only a few vessels out there including a hand-full of fishing boats returning from their heavy work and a magnificent yacht.

A drop of rain fell on his hood with a plunk and he squinted up at the sky. "Rain?"

No, it couldn't be. This was not the right time for it and would be a huge inconvenience. As the seconds ticked on, more drops fell from the sky at random until Lin found himself driving in a fine, almost misty, light rain mixed with gusts of wind. Every once in awhile, a huge drop would hit the bridge of his nose or the back of his hand.

This was getting annoying.

More gusts and the temperature seemed to drop. Lin brushed his wet cheek with his fingertips. This couldn't go on. He'd pull his horse and cart to the side for awhile. He noticed an old oak tree to his right, big enough to act as shelter from the rain. As long as there was no lightning, he would be safe enough.

He pulled the cart over with the horse giving an appreciative shake of the head to fling water off. Lin did likewise as he left his seat with a plan in mind to lean against the tree. Stepping around the cart, he could see that his cargo, the armoire, was damp but still intact and he pushed the doors to make sure they were still closed.

A few more footsteps and then he was against the dry bark of the tree, arms folded. With a forced, seemingly bored expression, he kicked the dirt with his heel. There was still nothing worth watching and no one on the streets—which was good, but killing time wasn't. He started to worry that the horse trader would decide to stay home in bed instead of work today. People were just like that. Lazy bums. Lin decided that if the man was lazing about at home, he'd just find out where he lived and would pay a quick, lucrative, visit.

A twig snapped and he looked up.

Surprisingly well dressed men in dark clothing approached him, circling both sides of the tree—appearing out of nowhere and, immediately, cutting off any chance of escape. Lin, thinking quickly, considered jumping directly into the cart and making his escape that way, but it seemed like there were too many of them around to even attempt it.

"What, the hell?" he whispered to himself nervously. They were all wearing practically the same cut men's clothing and the same hairstyle.

His next thought was that this must be some kind of powerful horse trader that he was working with. Maybe, it was the front for a gangster mob. There were still many in the demon lands. But, for the most part, their "official" attitude was "live and let live" unless they were owed money or drugs.

"Ummm…sorry?" Lin said quietly, curving his spine into something appearing more submissive under the cape and his eyes grew dull.

"That's him! Without a doubt, that's the one!" a voice accused. He'd rounded the tree with two other figures following. "That's the bastard you're looking for. I worked with him on the castle grounds and I never forget a face. Not so good with names, mind you, but this face I do recall," the master gardener declared with a finger pointed at Lin.

"You," Lin gasped.

"And don't forget me," Dom Dom said, with teeth looking sharp and bright. He was dressed in an expensive, devilishly handsome outfit of browns and creams with a dark russet belt at the waist. "But, I'm really not the one you should be worrying about right now…even though I am bigger, stronger, and better looking than you are."

Lin's eyes widened at the sight of him and then turned when she slinked forward. Waiting in the carriage parked near the pier had been a trifle dull. Getting out felt good.

"So, you're the one." An amused, tinkling laugh followed. "Now that I recall, I do remember seeing you, too, only the clothing was a little bit different…and the hair..." Lady Cheri's voice was charming and so was her outfit. It was blood red, cut seductively down to the middle of her ample bosom, and she carried in her right hand a well-made leather whip. "Do you know me? I assume that you do."

On impulse, Lin took a step backwards. He bumped into someone behind him, but it didn't matter. He couldn't take his eyes off of her. "You're one of the Three Great Witches of the Demon Kingdom," he stated, voice strained. Then, he thought the better of it. He'd try a new tactic. "But…you're also called 'Golden Celi.'" Maybe, flattering her a little in an appreciative tone would help. Maybe. Her reputation said that she lapped that kind of attention up and she was a total ditz.

"Oh, so…" Lady Cheri practically purred, "You _have_ heard of me. That's good. That's very, very good…Lin…"

She spoke his name and he froze instinctively.

The blond seductress strode forward, swinging the leather whip casually at her side. And, then, she snapped her fingers, creating a blazingly hot fireball in her left hand. Small sprays of rain sizzled against it threateningly when the wind gusted the right way.

From everywhere, it seemed, hands were gripping onto Lin—holding him tightly. There was no point in struggling. He would just have to bargain his way out and accept a loss at the cost of saving his own skin.

"Look…I…know what you want and I…"

The blond woman's smile turned positively sinful, a cruel gleam in her green eyes. "No… No, I don't think you do…"

Lin tried to keep himself composed. She stood close to him, close enough that he could smell her sweet perfume. It was perfume made from flowers he'd grown as a gardener back at the castle, "Beautiful Wolframs." Lin almost spoke the flowers' name aloud.

The red whip was held up and then brushed against his cheek slowly, sensuously. Under his chin, it was done in the same manner. She seemed to be staring deeply into his eyes when she was doing it.

Watching, waiting…for a single move.

Hunting prey was like that.

And she was, unlike her son, a very patient person when need be.

A wooden clattering in the background and "Blood," Dom called over to her as he inspected the open armoire. "From the look of things, I can tell it probably came from the head." He picked up a blond hair and examined it.

"That's not possible," Lin countered only to see Dom wet his forefinger in the rain, brush it against a dark spot inside the armoire, and raise it again. He rubbed his fingers together and they stained red.

"Let me explain something to you," Lady Cheri said with a fire now burning in her emerald eyes. "Wolfram is _my son_…mine." The fireball came very close to Lin and he could feel the heat from it. "Do you know how long I was in labor with him? Try…a day and a night. That's a long time to be in agony." She rubbed the whip against Lin's inner thigh in small circles, making him sweat. "When you are in that kind of agony, nothing else exists but four walls and pain." She neared him and whispered in his ear, the tone being a dominant one, "You understand what agony is…right?"

Lin simply stood there and breathed—afraid to move and, with all certainty, unable to do so thanks to the hands of her men holding him.

Lady Cheri leaned away, but her eyes were cutting into him viciously. "As a mother, you spend your time…years…getting the absolute best for your son. And then you teach him how to walk and how to talk..." She smiled at the memories. There were so many. "A mother's work is never done and you make a thousand sacrifices for him that he will never know about." She smiled again, bravely, eyes full of angry tears. "And, then, before you know it…he grows up." The whip snaked seductively up. "You go from 'Mommy knows everything' to 'Mommy knows nothing' and he shuns you…and your advice."

Lin watched her face and waited to see what she'd do next. Was she weak? Did she leave an opening? Could he chance it? Would he?

"Well, why" Lin asked evenly, "didn't you try harder? Why didn't you and your other sons try to get Wolf to agree to drop his ridiculous engagement? Better yet, the marriage entirely?"

At the "Wolf" name, she almost struck him, a deep huff as the fireball blazed hotter and her delicate hand poised to do so. The glow was casting a light against Lin's face. But, she caught herself and her Dom Dom raised an eyebrow in surprise. By his code and authority, she had every right to act.

"'Wolf' is not a name someone like you can call my son." She extinguished the fireball by closing her fist and took the end of the whip, draping the whole length over Lin's shoulders like a rough, leather scarf. "And don't you ever imply that it was _my fault_ that Wolfram was unhappy in his engagement and marriage." She tightened the leather around his throat. "That would be…a mistake."

Lin's eyes bulged at the possibility and he pulled away from her—his head bashing into the chest of someone, but it didn't matter. "You…" He stared at Dom, too. "Both of you…" Yes, he'd take this tactic. "There's no way that you can torture me and get away with it. I know your 'Yuuri Heika' and he's a total pacifist. An antiwar, kiss the ass of the enemy pacifist! And you know it." He tried to pull his arms free, but to no avail. Still… "If he hears that you've mistreated me, has gone against his rulings on how to run the country and how to treat the people who are there… What will happen to you both, huh?"

Lady Cheri looked unimpressed and her Dom Dom even less so.

"Now, here's what I suggest," Lin babbled on without taking much of a break in speaking. He had to talk fast. "You want to know the whereabouts of your son and I can provide you with that information…at a _price_…say five hundred gold pieces." He twitched a slight grin. "You help me out with the money and I promise that you'll never see the likes of me ever again." He smirked as he spoke. "In fact, I'll even throw in the horse, cart, and armoire for free…"

There. That was the bargain and he thought he'd done a masterful job of it under the circumstances.

"If I have parchment and something to write with, I can give you not only the name of the place but the directions as well…"

He looked at Lady Cheri expectantly to see if the deal was sealed.

She simply blinked back at him.

"Okay, fine," Lin gritted out. "Names… I'll give you the names of just about everyone involved."

"Just like I said earlier…you don't understand what I want…" Her green eyes flicked to the men holding Lin. "Oh, and boys…thank you so much for coming over from the yacht and doing me this little favor. Please take our guest to the place we have arranged."

"W-Wait, what are you talking about?" Lin said with growing anxiety. "I told you that I was willing to strike a deal" He looked left and right. "I'm…I'm even willing to negotiate on the sum."

"Take him this way," Lady Cheri ordered, stepping lightly around the horse and a puddle in the road.

"Wait! I just said that you can't set me on fire or rip my skin off or something! You can't! Someone will see! Someone will talk! Yuuri Heika will hear of this!" he called after her, bloody angry now.

Lady Cheri, taking her sweet Dom Dom's arm, turned back one final time to look at Lin. Her eyes were blazing hot. "Do you know that _pleasure_ can be a form of torture all its own, too? And, before I'm through with you…you'll be begging me for release in the most delicious ways." She turned to her companion, "Right, Dom Dom?"

"Oh, yes!" he agreed as they walked on together with Lin being dragged behind them, his shouts getting louder.

She cracked the whip with her free hand and took a jaunty little step. "Shall we break out the turkey feathers, cottage cheese, and candle wax for starters?"

A devious, male laugh. "Most definitely."

"Good taste always shows."

"It certainly does…"

.


	26. Chapter 26

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Chapter 26

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"Of all the gods, only 'Death' does not desire gifts."  
**Aeschylus**

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"Nothing to report, sir," the soldier said to Gwendal with a sharp salute following it. The scout's demeanor seemed to be a well-restrained feeling of frustration. He had returned from his previous search only to be sent out again when they had reached the rundown village square. This last time, it was a meandering road stretching northeast of the "Grey Crane Boardwalk" sign in the village square toward a squalid restaurant and the boardwalk itself .

Murata, Gwendal, Yuuri, and the soldiers agreed to wait there by the swinging sign while Conrad went in search of information on the ships entering and leaving Grey Crane. Meanwhile, Yozak did a quick search of the businesses and buildings in the area of the square. Not long after, he returned with a slight, disinterested shrug.

A misty rain was falling down now and Gwendal, coming up behind them, pulled Yuuri and Murata's heavy hoods over their heads simultaneously—trying to keep them warm. Of course, the military man had a hard scowl on his face at the time, as though doing this small action was a necessary but major inconvenience. Still, Murata could only smile inwardly. It felt good to have a little concern—even if the soldiers around them were pretending not to notice.

A clomping sound drawing closer, hooves splashing in puddles…

The deep rumbling of wooden wheels driven along the uneven, cobblestone street…

Yuuri, who had been chatting with Yozak about the weather, tensed up briefly when a bearded man in a rickety cart passed by with a wagon load of ship crates piled on top of each other. The double black visibly let the breath go when he realized it was the wrong person.

But Murata could understand why.

Waiting was so hard.

The sage rocked on his heels. With him standing on the cobblestone street, and the stones being so uneven, it gave him a bit of a challenge. At least, it was something to do. Silently, he noted that Wolfram's men, as usual, had gathered into a blue-coated huddle and were chatting quietly among themselves. Sometimes, their eyes would flick to Yuuri and then back again. These fire wielders were the men in Wolfram's elite guard who were the most loyal, the most dedicated. And it had not escaped the notice of the blond ex-prince, either. They were the ones given the honor to be his attendants at the wedding—and to guard his life and the king's in the process.

Not that Yuuri knew it at the time.

Looking back on it, that wedding seemed to have been ages ago.

Without turning his head, Murata tried to listen in on Günter's conversation with Gwendal.

"…The village elder…"

"…And pubs, after that, let's not forget…"

"If we have to search all of the ships here, we'll…"

"No other choice..."

"…Nothing leaves this place by water…"

Murata nodded to all of those things but thought to himself, _If word reaches them, we could also scare them off to the point that they escape on foot or they decide to kill their hostage out of convenience. Having him alive would be the best outcome even if we have to track them all the way to human territories._

The sound of a horse riding up at a full gallop and a pleased-looking Conrad was good to see. He seemed to be holding something in his hand. The sage almost smirked at that. He could read Lord Weller like a book.

"Well?" Yuuri asked eagerly, approaching Conrad as he jumped down from his horse. Gwendal and Günter stepped forward, too, with soldiers making way for them.

"Apparently, Mother and her…" he coughed politely into his fist "…associates…have located Lin."

"Yes!" Yuuri shouted and startled a perched seagull on top of the baker's roof. It flew off toward the boardwalk. "Gwendal, Conrad… I want to talk to Lin again! He's going to tell us exactly where Wolf is…"

"Not necessary," Conrad went on, handing the note over to Gwendal. The handwriting was curvy, a work of art, and almost totally illegible. Typically, only her sons could decipher it. "Mother says that she has…'gently persuaded' Lin to cooperate…"

Gwendal, Yozak, and Gunther began to sweatdrop over that description. They knew what it meant and Murata could only hazard a naughty guess. Of course, the sage also had a very vivid imagination.

"Gently persuaded…? That's it?" Yuuri said incredulously, taking in all of their faces. "She's just so nice to everyone. Do you really think she questioned him thoroughly enough?"

"Yes," everyone said in unison.

"Eh?"

Conrad looked back at the scroll of paper that had been tied to the pigeon's leg and sent to the village elder's. The message had not been waiting long for them, apparently. "Wolfram is being held at a place called 'Fort Krebs' and the directions on how to get there…"

"I know the way," Günter stated, flipping his white cape majestically and then getting back on his horse. "This southern road will take us there and the ride isn't that long." The adviser looked to see if that made his wonderful king confident and happy with him. It seemed so. "We should leave now, I suggest."

Conrad and Gwendal exchanged curious looks and got onto their horses, too, with Yuuri, Murata, and Yozak following closely with the soldiers.

With the exception of the clomping of horse hooves, the rainy scenery with squalid buildings and low-growing brush passed them in silence—both heavy and malignant—something Günter did not take pleasure in.

Talking, talking always cleared his head.

"Originally, Fort Krebs was built to protect this area from human pirates and, later, privateers," the white caped adviser prattled on as Gwendal caught up with him. "There were many small skirmishes here in the beginning. Laughingly, people referred to them as 'wars' but Shin Makoku would not see major conflicts in this vicinity for many hundreds of years. Finally, as this area grew to be less strategically valuable and more important waterways built up their industrial and commercial bases to the north of here, Fort Krebs was still utilized, upon occasion, in prisoner exchanges…trading back and forth human and Mazoku captives…as a part of peace treaties and other necessary political negotiations."

Yuuri blinked at that, looking back and forth between Günter and Murata to see if he was right. "You mean…some of the maous handed over Shin Makoku's citizens as a part of a peace treaty?" This was unbelievable. "I mean, I can see sending humans back to their own lands…being POWs and all, but…"

"Not only high profile citizens and members of the court," Gwendal explained with a darkness growing around him, "but members of the Mazoku military, militia, private guard, untried 'criminals'…" He pursed his lips after the word "criminals." For, anyone, back in those days, could be considered one. Just phrasing something the wrong way could make a person "disloyal" to the crown. Thus, a criminal by the hazy definition in the law books.

"Sometimes, being 'maou' means you have to make sacrifices, Yuuri," Conrad explained diplomatically. He tried to keep his voice down, too. "Even sacrifices you personally don't really care for…"

"In more recent decades," Günter chimed in, in a cheerier voice, trying to make Yuuri feel better, "arranged marriages between the nobility and royal families have come to replace this old custom. And, so far, with you as maou, we haven't had the need to revert to the old ways." He tried smiling at Yuuri. Possibly, that could help.

It didn't.

Yuuri thought back to Greta. She certainly didn't want that—to have her spouse chosen for her. In essence, bringing her up would be nothing more than raising a wife for someone else. She would be a pawn in a political game, too—easily moved, easily sacrificed.

Anyone would do, right? As long as it benefited Shin Makoku…

"No, that's not the way I want to do things," the double black stated firmly. His eyes were set on the road ahead of him, fixed and hard. "I won't trade lives like that…sacrificing a few for the safety of all. I'd work out a 'peace' somehow without lives being lost." Briefly, Yuuri thought about how he'd been assigned to read about Japanese villages, long ago, sending young maidens in boats to "water gods" or "sea monsters," offering up their lives just so that everyone left behind could have an easy life.

Dark eyebrows knitted together. "And the same goes for forced marriages."

There was an uncomfortable pause filled in with the clomping of horses on a wet road. Conrad was actually thankful, at this point, that the soldiers in Wolfram's guard were following him and could not see how close he'd come to wincing. On the other hand, Gwendal made a low sound, grunting in anger, but that couldn't be helped.

"But, Yuuri," Conrad countered politely while trying his hardest not to glance at the expressions of Wolfram's men, "an arranged marriage is not a 'lost' life."

Yuuri shook his head. "If it's against your will, I say it is."

This time, Murata decided to join in, hoping to divert attention slightly. In a quieter tone, he said: "So far, you have been most fortunate in that you have not had to make a difficult and permanent decision. But, at some point, all rulers must face the fact that 'no win' scenarios exist…that, at best, they might be able to accomplish a pyrrhic victory." He tilted his head to the side, trying to see Yuuri's expression. "To accept…"

"No," Yuuri interrupted with courage coming to him, "I'll find a way. I'll do anything to accomplish that. Wait and see. Things always work out. They just…will."

Murata chuckled to himself and pushed his glasses up on his face with a finger. "You know, Shibuya, I almost believe you."

_Almost._

_._

* * *

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A lumpy, chalky-grey speck came into view far in the distance, seemingly sitting on the sand alone. As the road took them closer, the slate-colored water to their left grew threatening and the sky promised to open up with large drops of water splashing on the ground around them.

Thunder rolled.

Everyone glanced at the sky.

Soon, Yuuri could make out the fort clearly. It was larger than he expected, constructed of brick, and was nearly circular. Sandbags had been piled in front of the aging but still sturdy walls, apparently an attempt to make the structure canon proof if approached by sea. In the wind, patches of short, green grass waved madly on the domed top, but, otherwise, no vegetation grew. In fact, there were no trees or shrubs anywhere in the area, only a narrow road that intersected with the main road Yuuri and his group had been traveling on.

Gwendal gave the signal and they held their traveling party back near what used to be the community's smokehouse. The dilapidated structure provided cover from prying eyes, but it still gave off the scent of smoked fish that had gone bad, making Yuuri's stomach lurch slightly.

"Well," Günter began as he covered his nose with his lace hankie, "I'm not entirely surprised that they're using the old fort." He said the words idly as he then tied a wax-coated, green paisley scarf over his head. True, it was designed for fashion, but it was the only water-resistant item that he had and a misty rain was upon them again. "Not many of the locals come out here and, back in my day, it was nothing more than a place for young people to…"

"I understand," Gwendal cut him off. He didn't need to hear anymore about a place to make out, not in a situation where his baby brother was involved anyway.

Gwendal looked to Yuuri. Luckily, the young king wasn't paying attention. Instead, the double black had positioned his horse to one side so that he could simply lean away to get a good glimpse of the old structure.

"He's there," Yuuri said simply.

The sage brought his horse next to Yuuri's. Murata rolled his lips together, thinking before speaking. His best friend seemed to be particularly difficult on this trip. Maybe, his awakening feelings were starting to interfere with his better judgment. Maybe. Still, either way, it was best to be cautious in a situation such as this. He would advise that first. "We don't know for certain that he's in there, Shibuya. Lin could have lied. And I don't want you to feel _disappointed_ if…"

"He's there." Yuuri looked at his best friend and his eyes were like the slits of a snake, making Murata back down immediately.

"I see…" Murata bowed respectfully and straightened his shoulders back. A flash of light covered his glasses, obscuring his eyes. "Then, will you be going in alone?" It was a fair question. Was The Maou spirit planning on storming in or not? Or, would it be Yuuri?

"You can't expect for us to come all this way only to have Yuuri Heika enter the fort on his own," Gwendal growled in Murata's direction. There was a liberal amount of "You must be out of your mind" mixed in with it, too.

Murata raised an eyebrow to that. Obviously, Gwendal had not seen the transformation of Yuuri's eyes. Conrad seconded that opinion without hesitation, giving the sage a moment to pause and wonder if it had just been his imagination—seeing the change.

No, he'd seen it. That was for certain. But, possibly, that message, "He's there," was aimed directly at him—and him only.

"Shibuya just seemed so firm on the matter of going in…surprised me as well," Murata responded offhandedly, he gave a slight gesture as if to say, "But either way is fine with me."

"You _will not_ be going in alone," Gwendal commanded Yuuri with a face set in stone. No arguments. No challenges. This was the way it was going to be. "In fact, it would be better if you stayed here."

Yuuri shook his head again, eyes drawn in the direction of the fort. "Sorry…I can't do that… Wolf needs me and I need to be the one to find him."

The wind blew hard, whistling with the rain. Bowing slightly, Yuuri gripped the edge of his hood and pulled it down before it was blown away.

"Listen to Gwendal. We can bring Wolfram out to you as soon as we can," Conrad suggested as though the job was the easiest thing in the world. No one was fooled, though—not even the double black. So, the dubious looks were not surprising. "Seriously, Yuuri," Conrad tried his usual, pleasant smile. "I've faced worse. And this is my little brother…the one I held the moment he was born…so…"

A firm shake of the head. "He's your brother, but he's mine…my husband." The childish, sunny Yuuri faded and a more grown up one was facing Conrad now. "He needs to see me. He needs to know that I will come for him no matter what…that I haven't forgotten him." He glanced to the left and right, dark eyes taking in Wolfram's men. "I know some of you think that I don't care for my consort. I understand that because of the way I've treated Wolfram in the past. But, he is mine and I am his. It's not a typical royal marriage of 'honor' on one side and 'obligation' on the other that keeps us together." He met Gwendal's eyes and said, "No matter how many times we argue, no matter how many times we are separated, we will _always_ find our way back to each other…and forgive. That's how our relationship is." He smiled to himself wryly. "That's our love."

Gwendal gave a tired, disbelieving look to Yuuri. He wasn't in the mood for a long speech on the state of his king's relationship with his baby brother. All that mattered was retrieving him. "Well, then, we should find a way in."

He approached Günter. "I assume you've 'been there' before?"

An uncomfortable blush and "It's been awhile."

Gwendal tried _not_ tightening his jaw even though that made it just as sore as grinding his teeth. This was no time for embarrassment. It was slowing them down. "Then, show us a way in that will not be noticed."

"I'm sorry…" Murata said and stopped Gwendal. He got a nasty glare from the man and, in return, Murata put on his "sagely face." There were times when he needed to play the "sage card" and this was one of them. "This is as far as I'm allowed to go," Murata told them, trying to show some regret. He did feel it and a little bit of guilt. He did not want to come off as a coward, either. "Shinou's instructions to me have been absolute. I must remain here."

"Why?" Yozak asked, trying to hide suspicion. He did the "brotherly concern" act which didn't work with Murata at all. The sage knew his kind better than that. Murata raised his head, fixed his black eyes at the spy, and his manner became cold and removed—a world apart from his usual, friendly self. "He did not say."

Gwendal sat uncomfortably upon his horse for a second. "If Shinou has issued you orders, then he may know of…possibly…something else that may be of help."

A slight murmuring. It became clear that Gwendal's soldiers and Wolfram's elite guard members were listening in with worry. Shinou had stepped into this situation unexpectedly and they revered him to the point of sainthood. Others saw him as practically a god. Either way, word coming from on high about the "here and now" was disquieting to them. Murata could practically feel their nerves.

And it didn't help the atmosphere.

The sage kept his cool composure and held back. "Remaining here…that is all he instructed me to do."

"But, he knew you were to be _here_," Gwendal pressed, trying to start a dialogue.

"In a way…"

Some part of Gwendal felt irritated at that. Getting information out of the sage, sometimes, was like pulling teeth. Couldn't he just blurt out everything and be done with it? Yuuri, in meetings and negotiations, had a nasty habit of doing that kind of thing. Sometimes, Gwendal thought he'd prefer it if the two changed personalities. If so, it would, at least, be easier to deal with on a day like this.

"Nevertheless…" Murata's detached voice and seemingly "removed from worldly things" frame of mind reached him, "I…must remain here."

"I'm fine with it," Yuuri agreed with a little relief. His best friend would be in a safer place. No worries. "He can stay here."

The sky grew darker and the rain started to fall. It was a cold rain with the clouds hanging down heavily from the sky. Gwendal pointed to two of Wolfram's men. "Victor Woodward and Reginald Wilkins, stay behind and guard The Great Sage." He glanced towards the weeping heavens. "And get out of the rain while you're at it."

At the order, Woodward seemed as though he was going to openly debate that when Gwendal added sternly, "It is a rare privilege to guard His Holiness and any disagreement on your part will only make our consort lose honor." His eye twitched at the fire wielder and he added, "I'm sure, for your sake, you would chose not to do anything to make your commander _displeased_ by your actions. His temper is short." Then, Gwendal's head turned to the one next to him. "Wilkins, you are the medic in my brother's squad…are you not?"

The young, fresh-faced fire wielder with brassy hair almost shot up in the saddle at the mention of his own name. He nodded enthusiastically, but felt mostly nerves tying him tightly around the chest. He placed a hand there, momentarily, to stop his thundering heart.

"Good, then it will be most beneficial for you to remain by the sage's side. You have the ability to heal as well as wield your element and live by the sword. Those are useful skills."

Gwendal turned back to Woodward again. "While we are away, should someone…_anyone_…try to attack The Great Sage, you have my permission to _deal with_ them…by steel or by fire…your preference."

Taking this in, Victor Woodward sat a little taller in the saddle. He could see that he had a very set mission even if it wasn't exactly the one he wanted most. Honor was involved. Best of all, his commander would be proud of him.

"And, Wilkins," Gwendal said, leading his horse away, "I am certain that your healing skills may come into play. Be ready."

"B-But, compared to Yuuri Heika…" the young Mazoku chimed in almost sheepishly. Yes, he'd heard of all of the amazing things the Demon King could do. "My skills are adequate," he downplayed, "…but I'll do my level best…and…" Okay, now, he was rambling. He didn't meet eyes with Gwendal.

"Do it."

"Yes, sir!" Wilkins saluted and felt a total fool.

There was a cruel snicker from Wolfram's group.

Gwendal pulled up next to Günter with a deeply annoyed grumbling of, "I don't know what that soldier's problem is."

"Crush on you," Günter said with a knowing smirk.

"Oh, is that it?" Indigo eyes glanced back at the blue-clad soldier and Wilkins immediately looked away with embarrassment.

"So, follow me," Günter told him, pulling his cape around his shoulders as the rain came down harder. "We can't wait for nightfall, obviously…not in this weather… Who knows when it will let up?"

Both men and horses passed him by with Murata remaining still. The rain was falling on him heavily now and he could feel the Wheel of Fortune turning. He could always sense it, that change in fate. There was no stopping it once it started.

"Great Sage?" Wilkins called to him. "Great…Sage?"

Murata looked up from his musings. "Hm?"

"The rain…is a problem, is it not?"

Polite language. Polite meanings. But, they were empty in a way.

"Woodward has managed to break the door to the smokehouse open over here. Why don't the three of us stand inside the doorway while the horses take shelter in that building over there?" He pointed to what seemed to be the remains of a barn with a shack next to it. The shack's whole structure seemed to be ready to collapse upon itself, slanting at a dangerous angle. Rotting wood pieces dangled from rusting nails thick as a man's finger.

"The old barn's really leaky, it seems, but it beats having our horses just standing around in the rain."

"Agreed," Murata stated evenly. _Then again, one strong gust of wind could knock almost everything around here down to the ground._

A foot up and down again. The wood beneath it groaned with Murata's weight. The sage now stood within the smokehouse and, with haste, he pushed the door closest to him as far as it would go. "Let's see if we can air this place out." He was certain that it would take several baths to get the smell of this place out of his hair.

The other two soldiers did likewise with the second door.

Murata looked to Woodward. He was standing in the open doorway, having a hand on the hilt of his sword and sharp eyes looking for any kind of movement in the bleak grayness which surrounded them. The smokehouse had no windows, a thatched roof, and a vent on top. So, that both protected them but also limited their vision to keeping a lookout on the road they'd just been on without literally getting out and patrolling in the wet weather.

Then, the sage turned to Wilkins. The poor man had just returned, was soaked to the skin, and rubbing the corners of his eyes. Nose itching, too. "Ugh," he groaned under his breath. The young Mazoku looked around the small, unpainted room with revulsion.

_Allergies_, the sage thought. And then he sighed to himself.

Out there, everything was happening now. Everything was moving on, moving forward. And he was not part of that, but that was the way things had to be.

Waiting was so very hard. But he knew it and always had.

Such was the life of the sage.

* * *

Gunther opened a side door after masterfully picking the lock with a pin. "…Has been ages since I've done this," he murmured to himself, and then straightened up—pretending that no one had overheard him.

Everyone had, of course.

"This way, this way," Gwendal ordered to his own soldiers in a sotto voice, sending them in first. Wolfram's men were next. "Swords at the ready," he told them. "Fire at this point will give our position away too quickly." Blue-clad nods as they entered, too, single file. Yozak went next, a hand on his hilt, with Gwendal and Conrad sandwiching Yuuri, who wasn't pleased about being protected this much when Wolfram was the one they should be thinking about.

Still, he had to go along with it. Voicing his objections might give them away.

A soft whispering, passing the word back.

"They say," Yozak told Gwendal "we have a choice of going left or right."

"Really…" He had to think about this.

Yozak could read Gwendal's face. He'd done so enough times and he knew that they were more than just literally in the dark. "Not knowing the enemy's exact numbers and positions make this difficult…if not risky. And we have to decide now."

"Split up," Yuuri suggested. "Just do it. We're really prepared and Yozak said that there's only nine or so of them."

"It doesn't sound that bad," Conrad told his older brother. "We've faced larger numbers with fewer men before."

"And if they've gathered more support?"

"We can still try," Conrad countered.

"Well?" Yuuri whispered, anxiety rising.

"Günter, you and Yozak take my soldiers to the left. The rest of us will go right." Gwendal made a motion and they moved on. Yuuri could feel his godfather's hand on his shoulder as they passed through a section of the hall without a lit sconce. The double black was glad for that feeling—knowing that Conrad was watching over him. Together, they'd do what needed to be done. He felt that their success was guaranteed.

Once again, Gwendal, who was now at the head of the group, raised his hand to stop and everyone did so. He whispered something to one of Wolfram's men and the scout moved on his own further up the hallway. Conrad stood on his toes, trying to look over another soldier and, finally, made his way past the soldiers to speak with his older brother.

"What happened?" his voice ghosted.

Yuuri shushed Morgif who had just opened a sleepy eye and was moaning for someone to dry him off and then put him next to a warm fire. Typically, he wanted to go back to sleep again for a nice, long nap.

"Don't cause trouble for other people," the double black admonished.

Thunder rolled again. Even from in this place, he could hear it clearly.

Then, Yuuri's eyes caught onto something—water dribbling down through the ceiling, running at an angle on the floor, and disappearing under the wall to his right. An oddly shaped wall, at that. "Strange," the double black said to himself as he approached. He reached an arm out and touched what he expected to be cold stone and found it surprisingly rough and wooden. He pushed timidly and a narrow doorway, much like those in old homes in Europe, opened with a slight scraping sound. And, though it was a very tight squeeze, the double black managed to step through.

A sconce burned with candle wax dripping down.

Yuuri squinted, looked around, and then it came to him. He knew this place and he knew exactly what he had to do.

"Wolf, I'm on the way!"

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* * *

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Yozak took his steps carefully and with forethought—being stealthy was a prerequisite to being a spy. And, apparently, it was a special skill at that. Too bad the soldiers behind him weren't as good at it. Even Günter, who usually had such a delicate way about him in word and deed, wasn't as talented as Yozak had expected. So, he suggested he go on ahead a few steps and would signal them to come if he found anything.

And he had.

There were voices far up ahead of them—a competitive boasting of men speaking in deep, rough dialects. The kidnappers seemed to be playing dice and they needed more candles lit so that they could see better.

The hallway brightened at the farthest end and the spy lingered—searching for shadows dancing on the walls.

The voices rose and fell—sounding like any in a typical pub or military barracks when the commanders were away. Talk of gold and prostitutes with raunchy tattoos, and the complaint of someone hogging all of the spiced wine followed it.

Yozak felt slightly better about that last part. _Good, they might be totally sloshed._

There was a small alcove with a pile of weapons—swords, both log and short, of different styles and metals, were lying in a heap next to a burlap sack and four small chests—three of which matched.

Yozak called Günter over with a brief wave. The two knelt down, put their heads together, and the spy pointed out a few things of interest.

"Notice the swords?"

The adviser pursed his lips as his eyes were drawn to the jumbled pile.

"This one should look _very_ familiar," Yozak whispered, the words barely audible. "It belongs to a certain 'consort' we all know and love."

"It is his," Günter confirmed as he took Wolfram's sword back. He handed it away from himself and into the arms of one of Gwendal's soldiers who was closest. "What, do you suppose, is in the sack?"

A rowdy roar echoed.

Everyone froze with a hand on his sword.

A beat passed and the soldiers looked to their superiors.

"Don't know," Yozak whispered, continuing on with their work, "but we'll have to be quick about this. I'll take the sack. Can you pick the locks on the chests?"

"Yes, but you're making me do things that remind me of my misspent youth," Günter pouted as he pulled a pin out and set himself to work.

"But who knew you were so talented?" Yozak flirted softly with a smirk behind it. "Usually, I'm the one picking locks."

A soft, effeminate "humph" of disapproval. But Yozak was right. In poor lighting and with such little time left, Günter's newly discovered "talent" had come in handy.

"Nothing interesting in here unless you need to shoe a horse," Yozak noticed.

The white caped adviser was already perusing the neatly packed contents of the chests. In dim lighting, that, in itself, had impressed Yozak greatly. And nothing escaped Günter's sharp eyes.

"Hmmm…" Günter cocked his head to the side. "Potions, snake venom, dried herbs…books, scrolls, pamphlets…ink pots…" His mouth turned down when he noticed notes written in a sharp, messy script. "Bloodstone bracelets…locks of hair…an herb list and black magic spells…" He narrowed his eyes at the parchment while Yozak restlessly took a velvet bag from within one chest and opened it, producing a wedding ring.

Maybe, he could still redirect Günter's attention. "Look, I think I've found our consort's wedding ring and…"

"AND ME?!" Günter's head snapped up.

Far off, there was an angry, "Oi! Did you hear that?!" and "Yeah! Someone's here!" followed by wooden chairs scraping back and the unmistakable metallic sounds of swords being retrieved.

Footsteps charged in their direction.

Yozak could only cringe inwardly for a moment. Then, he called to those around him, "This is it, guys! Let's go!" And they rushed forward toward the light. Yozak was at the head with Günter only a half step behind him, his sword at the ready. The soldiers were ready, too, and eagerly followed their commanders.

As final words, Günter said, "Sorry for revealing our position. I didn't mean…"

And, in response, Yozak could only huff a laugh at that. It was far too late to say "I'm sorry" right now.

.

* * *

.

Filth and the smell of stagnant water.

A drop of water fell from somewhere.

Splash.

Yuuri, feeling panicked now, stopped and glanced around frantically. He'd seen this place before. Shinou had shown it to him.

This was the end.

"Wolfram, no…_no_! This can't happen!" Yuuri shouted, running across the scuffed-up grey stone floor towards a wide, dank chamber specifically designed for sorting and processing prisoners en masse.

_Wolfram! I can feel him! _A sunny spot in his soul—faint but there.

The arched hallway the double black was running through widened into a massive chamber with chain links dangling from the walls. More water was dripping in from the ceiling and there were roaches and long-legged spiders dangling from the mildew-covered walls. Greenish sludge clung to Yuuri's shoes.

How long had he been running? Searching?

_I've seen this all before! I'm certain._

The sound of his desperate, heavy breathing echoed. Was it giving his position away? Would they find him first?

Yuuri could feel his muscles aching in this dampness but drove it all to the back of his mind. He had a purpose and, in this moment, he was needed. No one else could do this. No one else had his insight.

Yuuri had a feeling—a strong feeling of where Wolfram was and how to get there, but there was no logic behind it.

Morgif moaned a warning. He could sense something in the fort and was not pleased in the slightest about being here. Morgif wanted to leave. He'd had enough adventuring. The sword rattled himself in his own sheath.

"Hush, they'll hear us." The double black put a finger to his lips.

"Y-Yuuri?" the voice echoed. It was a weak, miserable voice laced with anxiety. "Yuuri? What are you doing here?" He could barely hold his head up, the strain was so bad. Strength was being drained from his body through his wrists. "You shouldn't be here. Where are my brothers? Soldiers? Someone?"

_Please, not again_, the blond thought. _Don't tell me you came alone._

Wolfram couldn't face it—Yuuri risking his life on his own. It was bad enough in the art studio.

The blond was half slumped against the right wall—arms still stretched over his head—still wearing houseki crystal-embedded bracelet shackles that were each chained to part of the wall. Yes, his efforts from before did work somewhat. He'd managed to knock many of the old, cheap crystals from the cuffs and took some pleasure in watching them roll away into a puddle not far from his feet. But, many remained and the sickening, draining effect could still be felt.

"They're coming, Wolf. Don't worry. We split up to search faster."

_Split up? No, that's not good!_

"Who…decided that?" Wolfram breathed incredulously.

"Well…I…uh…"

_No!_ Wolfram wanted to beat his head against the wall. Maybe, he would anyway.

Then, a noise. Something. The blond forced his head to turn as something moved, shadows stretched on the wall, catching his eye. "Yuuri…wait…please…" He hated using "please" but it was the kind of word Yuuri would listen to. He always had in the past.

There was the sound of metal against metal from the general direction Yuuri had come. Men grunting and groaning. Cries of pain. Yuuri and Wolfram turned and looked.

Running.

Splashing in muddied, rancid water.

Then, a sound from a different place. The blond looked away from Yuuri and lifted his chin to see better. "Yuuri! Watch out!" Wolfram shouted as loud as he could, hoping Conrad or Gwendal would hear.

The double black felt adrenaline arc through his body as he met up with two hulking, armed men—hair dark brown and almost matching rough-cut leather jerkin vests. There was a third man in a faded military uniform with sharp, hawkish features who seemed to be the leader of them, barking orders. All three unsheathed their swords as they rushed towards them from a dark, half-hidden side entrance in the shadows further down.

Wolfram saw it in their eyes. Death.

This, he knew, would be Yuuri's death day.

"Wolfram! It's gonna be okay!" Yuuri unsheathed Morgif in a fluid motion, the sound of sharpened steel sliding out in a single, ringing tone.

Despite Yuuri's years of sword practice, he stuck to his true nature. Instead of taking an opening, striking home and killing his opponent, he took out the leader easily enough with an unexpected, hard kick—knocking a kneecap out of place. With a roar of pain, Payne's leg collapsed beneath him and the man fell into a whimpering heap as Yuuri quickly blocked the next swordsman with shining blade raised.

Jumping from the shadow door, too, Conrad entered the fray. There was no time to be as merciful as his godson had been. Experience had taught him that. And Yuuri might possibly hate him forever. But, from seeing Wolfram chained pitiably to the wall and Yuuri doing his level best to keep himself and his consort alive, leniency was not something they could afford to give.

Meanwhile, the storm raged outside and thunder rolled.

Yuuri fought hard, sloshing in water, but was pushed back. He slipped, staggered, and Conrad took over.

There were more sounds of fighting coming from somewhere—somewhere closer to them.

Yuuri's breathing was loud. The sound was in his ears and each breath rattled him. Should he stand guard next to Wolfram, just in case? Should he stand by his godfather's side and take on one of the two men?

Conrad was a true knight, a master of the sword, and wielded his weapon with grace and agility. No matter the clumsy actions of the enemy, the brunette man was simply stunning in both form and style. Yuuri saw himself, now, in an entirely different light. He was simply a neophyte, wasn't he? He should have listened more, learned more, tried harder instead of seeing his lessons as "playtime." Negotiation was a fine thing if the other side was willing to make peace, too. Up until this point, he somehow managed to get people to see reason. But, here and in this place, he saw what it was like when the other side wanted death—and only death.

Wolfram struggled, rattling his chains feebly. He moved his arms pathetically with what little strength he had. The soldier in Wolfram wanted so badly to be freed, to help in some small way.

In the background, Conrad, with the tip end of his sword in the correct position, rushed forward. He lunged and pushed the second thug's body into the last man. They fell. And Conrad finished them off, stabbing through the chest of one and directly into the other body beneath it—all in front of Yuuri's terrified eyes. These were the same movements that his godfather only "gestured towards" in training drills. But, this time, it was real.

Horribly, horribly real…

A shout of indignation from the doorway and another one of the thugs appeared with a dagger, poised to throw. His eyes shifted from Conrad to Wolfram. The blond captive was too much trouble to keep alive, apparently. Or, he'd rather have the "prize" killed than stolen back.

Wolfram steeled himself. This was not part of the original vision. Still, it no longer mattered because so much of that vision was no longer true anyway.

"Put that down!" Conrad ordered, moving his sword into position. Brown eyes were hawkish.

"Screw you!" and a motion to throw.

"Shall not!" Conrad bellowed, taking swift action. Within seconds, another body fell heavily to the wet ground. But even after throwing his sword mid-stomach, killing the man, they were still in danger. And, now, Conrad had the gruesome task of retrieving his bloodied weapon.

Conrad, covered in sprays of blood not his own, could almost feel Yuuri's anger, disapproval, disappointment, and misery. But, it couldn't be helped.

"Yuuri?" Wolfram called.

"W-Wolf?" Onyx eyes widened as he returned to his side at a run, elbows pumping. "That's right… You still need my help, don't you? You need me."

For a second, emerald eyes dimmed and he crumbled weakly as the last of the crystals robbed his strength from him. "You shouldn't be here, Yuuri," he rasped. "It's not safe. You can see that." And when the double black didn't seem to listen, he added, "There are more of them around here…somewhere…don't know where..."

Still, the double black paid him no heed, going about his work. "Everything will be fine," he promised. "We're taking you home. It will be good again. And I have so much I want to tell you."

"You don't realize it, Yuuri… Not yet…" Wolfram shook his head. "I should have told you… If I had been a better man…a stronger man…I would have told you about 'now' and about this place." Wolfram shut his eyes tightly, fearing the expression on Yuuri's face—whatever it was or would be. "Shinou showed me something. It was like this, but not. I think I misunderstood or, maybe, I changed something using free will…"

_But, somehow, you and I have switched fates… And I'm terrified!_

"You can tell me all about that stuff later, Wolf." He ran his fingers over the studded cuffs, trying to figure a way of opening them. Certainly, these were houseki crystals. But, some appeared missing, just gaping holes and rusting prongs.

"You don't…understand."

"Hold still!" Like the kingly hero in a storybook, Yuuri raised Morgif aloft. His hands gripping the hilt tightly and arms high above his head.

Green eyes widened impossibly. "Yuuri!" Wolfram cried.

"Please help me free the one I love," he prayed. The double black's eyes flicked to snake-like slits and his expression grew determined. Immediately, Morgif, realized Yuuri's plans. He shouted and moaned at him—insisting to be put back in the ancient scabbard.

Demanding it.

"Now!"

"No! Yuuri, wait!" Conrad yelled and, by the doorway, Gwendal shouted a likewise order, arm reaching out as though he could do something from the distance where he stood. But their cries came too late and the blade struck hard.

Morgif, The Demon Sword, screamed to a high, unholy pitch. A distortion enveloped the sword like a heated paved road in summer, making him nearly impossible to hold. Morgif shook, the blade turning molten hot and then the midpoint shattered into pieces. A final scream, hideous. Earth-shaking. Then, Morgif's image fell pitch black on the sword and what remained of the once gleaming blade cooled into a splintered, gunmetal grey with a tiny rill of red lava pouring from it like blood.

More cracks formed and shards fell.

"He's killed Morgif," Gwendal breathed, disbelieving. He'd been told of various ways to obliterate the sword, but he never knew that a desperate maou and houseki crystals could do the job far quicker than the other methods.

The sparkling cuff was broken open. Wolfram's right arm was free and it fell to the wet, moldy ground like a dead weight. Wolfram found that his arm felt like it was covered in pins and needles. The cuff was gone, true, but that was of little consolation when he looked at Yuuri.

"Oh, Yuuri," Wolfram said quietly, sorrow filling him. "You shouldn't have done that." He shook his head. "A pointless sacrifice..."

Conrad met eyes with Gwendal briefly and then busied himself with Wolfram. "We have to continue. Let's just free Wolfram from his other shackle. And, I think, you'd better stay back, Gwendal. You know what these stones are like," Conrad ordered, quickly scanning to see what needed to be done while Yuuri sank to his knees, holding the sickening remains of Morgif in his hands.

Conrad tested the remaining chain and cuff while Gwendal looked on over his shoulder. Even though the discolored patina hinted otherwise, the cuff held fast despite its age. No key was within sight, either. Wolfram realized that he might have to melt it, making him even more exhausted than ever in the process. Worse yet, he'd have to be carried out of the fort wearing the cuff and chain as temporary burdens.

But there was another way.

"Conrad, take Yuuri and escape from here," he whispered harshly.

"You're kidding. We can't just do that," Conrad objected. He glanced to the side at Yuuri. His head was down and he was cradling what remained of Morgif against himself, mourning.

Surely, he'd heard Wolfram. Wasn't his godson going to say anything?

"Please," Wolfram said desperately, teeth clinched. It was the only answer. "If you…" The blond caught Gwendal's eye, too, and included him. "If the two of you ever loved me, you'll leave now and take Yuuri with you. Escape while you still can."

"Wolfram!" Gwendal was in his face now, seething. "This _is not_ the time for emotional blackmail. And I _will not_ allow someone who has been under this kind of strain, such as you have, to be commanding anyone to do anything…even if you are Royal Consort and you outrank me."

The blond looked away, shaking his head.

_This is the same and, yet, different from what Shinou had shown me. Nothing is safe. Nothing can be trusted! Morgif is dead!_

He looked to his brothers again. "Do it…_please_!"

"Wolfram, how could you say such things?" Conrad returned sternly, treating Wolfram as though he were a stubborn child. It was a natural reaction and a familiar one for him to see his baby brother that way.

Green eyes welled up with tears. Didn't Conrad hear him? Didn't Gwendal? Didn't they understand? "I just used the word 'please'."

Conrad stopped what he was doing, briefly, and gaped slightly.

"How long has it been since I used that word with you…Little Big Brother…My Lord Big Brother?" Yes, he'd swallow his pride for Yuuri. He'd do whatever was necessary for Conrad and Gwendal to do their duty to the country and throw him aside.

Yuuri was necessary. Yuuri was loved. Yuuri was king.

"Take him out of here…beg of you…"

There was a silent moment with the sound of feet tramping in the background, shouts of men's voices, and steel clashing against steel. Cries of agony.

Time? How much time did they have?

"I'm sorry, Wolf," Yuuri turned to the sounds and back again. He said it in a wavering voice, trying to hold himself together. Wolfram cringed because he knew what was coming. He knew Yuuri that well.

"You are leaving. That's an order."

The blond wanted to resist, but could not find the fortitude to do so. Tired. He was so very tired and he'd just been given an order. Could he ever deny Yuuri anything? Of course not. He was a fool to believe, even for a moment, otherwise.

"As…you wish…" Wolfram bowed his dirty blond head, closed his eyes briefly, and felt his element. There wasn't much there, a piteously low level burning within. Still, he had to do this next task. But, if he ran out of magic, things would be bleak.

Red. Red hot and gold.

A sizzling sound.

Wolfram smiled wryly as he broke the left wrist free by melting the offending chain links closest to him in his right fist. It took three grueling tries. The blond struggled to his feet with Gwendal's help and then took his king by the forearm—pushing him roughly in the direction of the door, for his own good, where a very much relieved Shin Makoku soldier now stood with a fireball blazing in his left hand.

"Amazing job, Royal Consort," Gwendal murmured beside Wolfram.

Praise from an older brother healed a little of his soul.

"We'd better get going," Conrad told Wolfram's soldier, making him light the way for them.

Worn out, Wolfram slowly turned his head left and right, looking—not trusting anything.

"Going, going…" Yuuri's voice sounded hollow. With trembling hands, he had just placed the remains of Morgif in his sheath. Then, desperately, Yuuri reached a hand out for Conrad. Gwendal darted his eyes at Wolfram to see his reaction. But, his baby brother was either too ill or too weary to care. Or, maybe, he had expected it—Yuuri drawing reassurances from someone other than him.

"It's the way of things," Wolfram whispered to himself, acknowledging it and making Gwendal grind his teeth back and forth in the process.

If Wolfram could take Yuuri's place here, and bear his pain in his place, then anything which followed was all right. He had served his use. All they needed to do was to escape from this place on foot…

And live.

Then, Yuuri turned back to Wolfram to make sure he was still there. Still following. There was a glimmer of hope in his eyes once more and Wolfram trudged on with Gwendal supporting him in his stumbling steps.

That was the way they were together.

Those two.

Always together and always parted.

One was ahead and one would follow.

That strange, almost lonely bond.

Wolfram glanced at the backs of the pair before him as he lumbered on. If Conrad could give Yuuri an ounce of comfort in this mess, Wolfram supposed that it would be worth it. He had sacrificed his own pride long before now. There was nothing left but to watch the aftereffect.

Jealousy never gave his life meaning anyway, and it never made Yuuri remember him for a second longer than he had to.

But that was reality. And Wolfram had had a good taste of it lately.

Smiling, Yuuri looked back again and, this time, his eyes moved slightly past Wolfram's shoulder.

The smile faded. "Wolf…? I…uh..."

A sword's glint.

Wolfram turned, too, seeing what was in the shadows, tracking them. "No!"

The blond could make out the flash of a blade and the wielder—the human in a tattered soldier's uniform. Injuring the man's leg simply wasn't enough to keep him down long enough for the getaway.

No time.

There was no time even though Gwendal tried, reaching for his sword.

"A DEAD KING!" A hard thrust forward.

The blond slid sideways and held Yuuri against his chest—one arm around his neck and one around his waist—desperately holding him.

With force, Wolfram's body lurched forward with the sudden, sharp thrust to his back. Blood splattered from his mouth while, from behind, Gwendal's blade assailed the intruder with savage thrusts. Conrad's sword swiftly followed. It was two against one.

What was left of the man's body and sword both fell clattering to the stone floor.

Yuuri stood there, shocked and stiff, his cheek sprayed in a splatter of fresh blood as Wolfram's body slumped against him, weakening with every struggled breath.

The blond forced a gritted smile nonetheless. _I…did it… _The fear, the waiting, was over. A relief. "Continue to…be a good king…Yuuri," Wolfram whispered with a liquid-gargled pain was nothing. He could barely feel anything. Numb.

Yuuri's eyes widened impossibly at the words. "Wolfram, no!"

They both crumbled to the floor together—kneeling—Wolfram's arm sagging around Yuuri's neck and then, finally, slipping off.

The double black held Wolfram to him, not daring to let go.

"…Worth it…"

His teeth were stained red.

"No..." Yuuri turned to Conrad and Gwendal. "Help me!"

He handed Wolfram over to Conrad's waiting arms. Frightened as he was, Yuuri began to tear the clothes free from Wolfram's body, determined to heal him if he could. But, there was so much blood. And the meaty hole and overpowering stench rising up from his chest made the double black sick. He wanted to turn away and heave.

Gwendal saw the gaping wound and placed a hand over his mouth. Wolfram, his baby brother, had been run completely through.

Wolfram knew the words and would say them—the words from his soul. It no longer mattered if Yuuri loved him or not, was fooling himself that he cared or not…offered his heart and then withdrew it… There was nothing left to fear because he had seen this, done this, all before. And, very soon, Wolfram knew, his true self would be forgotten. Instead, he would be rewritten—to become a myth of the castle, just a silly story that Yuuri would tell of an unwanted fiancé who once followed him around with the illusion that he was a lover.

But it was all right.

Maybe, true love wasn't such a splendid thing after all. And never having tasted it, he decided, he would not miss the flavor.

Wolfram's weary head turned to Yuuri. His lines. He had to say them as an actor should. "…I'll wait for you…on the other side of the river…"

Yuuri grabbed Wolfram's hand. He squeezed it. "Wolfram! Listen to me…" When he didn't get his way, Wolfram agreeing, Yuuri took the blond back and stretched a palm wide over the surface of his skin. A green, healing glow came, spreading out from his fingers in small rays. Fast. It wasn't nearly fast enough.

Blood was everywhere.

"Wolf! Wolf!" he cried piteously as he worked. Tears fell.

"Sorry…can't…"

Wolfram's body collapsed against the double black, his chin pointed to the ceiling and all became a comforting darkness with no pain and no misery wrapping around his heart. Finally, he was free.

"WOLFRAM? PLEASE?"

Tears fell down his cheeks as he held the rag doll, still trying to heal it. "WOLF?" The double black shook him, Yuuri's wedding band now stained with sticky, thickening blood. "WOLFRAM!" he cried. "NO!"


	27. Chapter 27

FINAL CHAPTER

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Chapter 27

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"Let no one weep for me, or celebrate my funeral with mourning;

for I still live, as I pass to and fro through the mouths of men."

~ Quintus Ennius  
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* * *

Shinou's Temple was decorated once more with ivory candles, flowers from the Royal Greenhouse, and an antique carpet stretching down the isle. Row upon row of identical floral arrangements, with tall, plumed pampas grasses intermixed, lined the back of the great chamber. Then again, so did several armed guards in formal, full dress uniforms. Gwendal would take no chances again with his king's life. This was something Yuuri Heika, in his humble opinion, would just have to get used to.

The simple black casket was positioned at the front and was overflowing with delicate, white mini roses and thin, satin ribbons. Murata, standing on the dais with Ulrike, was speaking words of wisdom while, upon occasion, looking down upon the lonely resting place.

The sage understood better than anyone. He knew that life, by its very nature, held illusions and that living beings needed those illusions—needed those assumptions for their sanity. For, if they knew exactly how many days or years they had left, they would, inevitably, spend that time mourning the loss of each passing sunrise instead of celebrating it.

Every single day would be "goodbye."

"Time is like a circle…like a ring," he went on, "because beginnings and endings are inseparable… And when time draws to a close, we appreciate the life that _was_ …as unique and special…One that never truly existed before and will never exist again…" Even with reincarnation, when the soul appeared again, it was returned knowing life lessons from the previous existence. The Wheel of Fortune had turned. The soul was renewed—and old mistakes would not be repeated.

New ones, on the other hand…

Yet again, Murata wore his "sagely mask" and looked out among the dearly beloved, the noble families, and prestigious members of the court with a meaningful expression. Funerals always made them face their own mortality for a good thirty minutes. And then they'd go back to their petty infighting and back biting, scrambling for position on the social ladder, and gossiping shamelessly at the Remembrance Dinner which directly followed the grave blessing.

The sage wanted to shake his head at that. _What a waste._

"We have been truly fortunate to have known him. And even though we feel his loss now, he will be forever a part of this castle, a part of our memories, and a part of our lives…"

The old, blue haired flutist who had played the music for the processional dabbed her eyes with a white hankie and quickly pocketed it. She always loved a good sendoff.

Murata turned his eyes to the front row and noted with some displeasure that Yuuri was sitting there next to Greta with a distant expression on his face. He wasn't really paying attention to the funeral—a service really for the living, not for the dead. And the sage could see that he was not drawing one ounce of comfort from this formal ceremony which was supposed to give relief and closure for him.

Greta looked to Yuuri and blinked tears from her eyes. She gave his arm a soft hug and placed her head on his shoulder. Thoughtlessly, Yuuri patted her curls but never once even glanced at her. He had kept his head down the entire time he'd waited in the foyer with Gwendal, Günter, Conrad, Lady Cheri, and Dom as well. Waiting for the funeral to start, he was in a fog and allowed Greta to simply lead him around. And more than once Yuuri just shrugged everything off and whispered quietly to Greta, "I can't think. You decide. It's fine…whatever."

Maybe, Yuuri thought everyone here would direct their disapproval or outrage towards him. Well, some had in the beginning once word had gotten out. The loudest and most vocal was Waltorana von Bielefeld. The fiery Mazoku actually stomped his way into Blood Pledge Castle and burst into Gwendal's office unannounced—ignoring anything the Commander of the Demon Army had to say in protest of having his privacy violated. The second, and much more bothersome in Murata's opinion, was Stoffel von Spitzweg. The man was the epitome of "Demon Pride" and was there, it seemed, to do little more than to stir things up on behalf of the noble families simply because it suited him. "Assurances," he kept saying loud enough for the whole castle to hear, "…and we want to know how this affects the kingdom…!"

A fist slammed down on Yuuri's desk, rattling everything and upsetting an inkpot.

_Trouble. _At least, that was what it seemed like with Stoffel behaving badly. But Lady Cheri put a quick stop to that by sending out a servant with a sweetly perfumed note. Even now, a crafty part of Murata still wanted a peek at what had been written down. It would have been great to know. All he could make out was the man's blank stare at the page and then a bitter scowl as he turned away and stormed off leaving the door wide open.

Ulrike was burning the aromatic resin normally used in all state funerals (which smelled to him like burnt tangerines) and wafting curls of the scented smoke over the coffin with a broad leaf.

All eyes were on Yuuri now. How he was acting or not acting interested them greatly even though they tried not to show it. A stiff upper lip was good, manly—the way a king should be at all funerals. But, being cold and aloof didn't exactly win over the women of the court.

Yuuri was typically bright, friendly, and happy. There was always something "young" about him even though he'd been reincarnated probably a half dozen times from Murata's way of thinking and from examining his aura. But, now, the double black simply sat there in his formal attire with a sparkling crown atop and stared ahead of him—eyes dull and, seemingly, uncaring.

More brief glimpses at Yuuri. Noble women pulling out their ribbon and lace fans and, supposedly, fanning themselves. Murata wasn't fooled, though. They were starting to whisper. The room they were in echoed everything.

The sage fingered his high dress collar, modeled loosely after the style of The Original Sage, and decided to draw things to a close before the "dearly beloved" formed too many unsavory opinions on their own which would probably lead to some sort of harassment of Gwendal and/or Günter for more details as soon as possible. (And they always wanted details. That privileged, "need to know" arrogance never fell out of fashion among the court.)

If they could just get through this, the next ten minutes at the grave, and then the dinner, which, usually by the middle of the event turned into something more like an Irish wake, this day would draw to a merciful close. Well, "merciful" for him anyway. Everyone would get out of the temple and serenity would resume.

The sage placed a hand over his heart and bowed out of respect. "And, so… We say farewell…" Murata concluded as he addressed the coffin, "…until we meet you again in this world…or we greet you in the Heavenly Realm."

The ceremony now concluded, Murata and Ulrike stepped down and, arm in arm, started the recessional. They parted in the foyer with Ulrike saying, "I will meet you at the grave for a final blessing." To that, the sage gave a firm nod. He watched the door he'd just come through and he waited. He could hear Greta talking, her voice sad but her words trying to be encouraging. "What he would have wanted…" Murata almost smiled at that. Greta had always tried so hard to get along with everyone, to fit in, that she'd made mental notes on the personal likes and dislikes of everyone she'd ever met.

Yuuri's noncommittal response echoed to Murata's ears first and then he saw him followed by Conrad speaking a few words to his older brother in low tones and the rest of the multitude crowding thereafter.

"Shibuya?" Murata said, drawing his friend to the side, "I was wondering if I could have a word with you."

A short, disinterested shrug was the answer but Yuuri soon found himself whisked away from the growing crowd into an antechamber close by. The sound of the door closing made the double black suddenly look around with a pained expression slowly coming to his face. He seemed stiff, now, as though pushing something back.

"What's the matter?" Murata cocked his head to the side, not understanding.

"This place…" He turned on his heel and faced the sage head on. Was he angry? Was he dejected? It was impossible to tell which was stronger and, perhaps, Yuuri himself didn't even know.

"Ummm…Yes?"

"This is where I got ready for my wedding." He took in the room once more, battling something within himself—blaming himself. "In here, everything is exactly as it was on that day. I mean, we brought the clothes and all. But, if I didn't know any better… 'now' is 'then'…if you get my meaning. Or, at least, it feels like it." Yuuri started to fidget with his crown as though it was slipping on his head, which wasn't like him at all. His mind was clearly elsewhere, reliving something.

"Ah…" It had not occurred to Murata when bringing his friend here for some privacy, and he pushed the glasses up on his nose with a finger, thinking more carefully this time. "I'm sorry. It was not my intention to make you remember something like that."

Yuuri shook his head, dismissing it. But the hand with the wedding band clinched for a second, as though he wanted to feel the metal and to know that it was still there—still real. "It's fine. We started with a wedding and ended with a funeral. Beginnings and endings. But, as you said today, life is a circle, huh?"

_This royal life, this courtly life…is a circle, Shibuya. You just don't recognize that yet. It's more than weddings and funerals...parties with a purpose and those that seemingly have none. But you will learn someday and I'll miss the person that you are right now when that time comes._

The sage gave a slight tilt of the head to that thought, agreeing with himself but knowing that teaching that whole process would require more than just a day's lesson on symbolism. Insight, experience, sagely knowledge—those were excellent teachers for a king. But too much information could be both confusing and terrifying under the right circumstances. And, this was not the moment to delve into the finer details regarding courtly life, courtly _reality_ of Shin Makoku.

His friend needed something much more than that. His friend was hurting somewhere deep inside.

_Deal with that first._

Murata put a reassuring hand on Yuuri's shoulder. "On another subject entirely… I have some news for you."

"Oh?" There was something wary in those eyes which were typically clear and hopeful. Usually, he was overjoyed to hear news of any sort and always hoped that "good" would be "better." And "better" would lead to "adventure." He took a deep breath, let it out, and asked, "How bad…?"

"Not exactly bad, per se." He tried to give a supportive air about it with a hint of mystery.

"Well?"

Yuuri wasn't in the mood for it, obviously. Best to just blurt it out. "I'm going to sub for you at the grave service."

"What? No," Yuuri returned bluntly and in a very set tone. "It is my responsibility and, if I don't show, I'm sure that Günter, Gwendal, or Greta will step up to the plate and go to bat for me. I don't want them to feel burdened…or you, either, after all you've done. So, I just can't…" He licked his dry lips. "Besides…"

"Besides?" he prodded.

Yuuri narrowed his brows, thinking hard. "Well, everyone will think that I'm hiding or that I can't face them after what happened."

Murata smiled wryly. "I've already told you that I will sub for you and, as The Great Sage of Shin Makoku, no one will think the worse of it. And no one will think badly of you being gone."

"They will and they probably do right now! Let's face it." Yuuri looked hurt, deeply hurt—eyes shining with unshed tears. For the first time in days, he was showing true emotion and Murata felt relief wash over him.

_It's about time._

Murata put a gentle hand on Yuuri's shoulder again. "Maybe a few petty people… But I don't care about them. I care about you because we are friends. And, believe me, a true friend is hard to come by." Then, he positioned himself closer to the door, rocked on his heels a little boyishly with his hands in his pockets, and asked, "So, do you want to hear about the news or not…?"

"I thought that was the news…but…sure." The double black said the last word as an impatient sigh. His friend could border on the infuriating sometimes.

"He's awake."

"Wha-?" Yuuri's jaw dropped. "You mean… S-Seriously?!"

"Gissela told me right before the service." He produced a small scroll of paper that had been delivered by pigeon.

"It's really… It's really true?!"

Murata nodded with an almost parental amusement. "I wanted to tell you sooner, but there was no time and you sent word for us to start Morgif's funeral immediately." Murata's smile widened. "Remember?"

"I…can't believe it."

"I can explain it no other way." Well, actually, he could, but it would have been a much wordier sentence.

Yuuri made a joyful leap with his fist in the air. "YES! This is great. Totally, totally awesome!"

"Yes, it is."

"You're really sure Wolf's awake?" he second guessed, expression almost childlike. He seemed so much like Greta in that moment. It tugged at the sage's heart in a way that he hadn't felt in so very long.

"Yes," Murata laughed.

"Best news ever! The very best!" Yuuri grabbed the crown, took it off his head, and tossed it to the sage. "Here! Keep this for me. Thanks!"

Murata stood aside as Yuuri threw the door open and sprinted to the right, towards the front door of the temple.

"Best news ever!" echoed down the hall with foot stomping.

Murata leaned his head out the door and he pointed in the opposite direction. "Oi! Go the other way! Take that side door, go outside, and you'll find your horse faster."

"OH, YEAH…! RIGHT! THANKS!"

A caped black streak passed the sage in the hallway and Murata had to laugh to himself. Life was like that—the bad and the good, the bitter and the sweet. Such things make us who we are and who we will always be.

"Enjoy it, Shibuya. Celebrate."

.

* * *

.

The solo ride seemed to take forever, but he made it. He was there—finally. With purpose, Yuuri approached the Royal Bedroom and noted with some displeasure that there were two high ranking castle guards posted on either side of the doorway. He didn't like being guarded so heavily, but he now saw the valid reason behind it. Besides, his own life wasn't the only one worth worrying about, and he made a mental note to himself to not be so selfish in the future.

Yuuri acknowledged the salutes but also noticed that the potted plant that Lin had delivered was not there. Gwendal issued an order that no plants, whether grown on the castle grounds or given as gifts, were permitted anywhere near the Royal Bedroom. And other orders were given out, too, but Yuuri only half paid attention to them at the time.

Now, everything interested him.

Or, rather, _someone special_ did.

Yuuri entered the room, closed the door behind him, and, timidly, approached the oversized canopy bed. Wolfram was lying there—wan, ashen—but beautiful nonetheless among the silks and satin pillows. Alive. That was the greatest miracle of all. It was such a wonderful thing.

But, like all magic, it came at a price.

Yuuri came to understand a cold reality. In order to keep Wolfram alive, he had to sacrifice a part of his ego. While holding the fire Mazoku's bloodied body, a voice in the back of Yuuri's mind, The Maou spirit, simply told him the truth. Wolfram had died and only a thread of the green healing energy was wrapped around his soul—keeping it bound to the body and the physical world.

"But _time_ is no friend in this."

Would Yuuri allow aid or not? The decision had to be made straightaway. Healing the body enough to keep the blond alive might still be possible, but that would mean letting go of his pledge to rescue Wolfram on his own—with his own two hands. And, without that, Wolfram might never see how much he was valued. In essence, Wolfram might not understand his own true worth. But, not only that, Yuuri knew he had never backed down from his word once he'd given it. And he had so much invested in that.

_What say you?_ The Maou demanded.

Yuuri took in Wolfram's face again.

_Y-Yes, let's…_ he reluctantly decided. But then a new problem presented itself. When the actual moment came to turn over Wolfram's precious life to someone who was not himself, it proved to be an unexpectedly difficult task and The Maou picked up on it with a sardonic grin.

And Yuuri sensed it.

Initially, the double black felt like he did when he failed—like failing a math test he'd studied hours and hours for, or like the time he struck out at bat when the team really needed to win.

_I'm really useless. But it's more than that…much, much more…_

That naïve sense of "trust" had always been a quality he'd been openly praised for. And, maybe, on some level, he took a bit of pride in that. But, now, with Wolfram, he hesitated and was afraid to let go. This life was not a "friend" to visit out of obligation if he got sick. This life had meaning and was endeared, irreplaceable.

Loved.

Was he failing in this, too? Had he changed so much in so little time?

A deeply throated chuckle followed by the feeling that The Maou was studying him. "Tis not victory which shapes us, little king," The Maou said to him perceptively. "Tis how we recognize…how we accept, how we endure and manage…_failure_…" There was a short, pleasant laugh that Yuuri found totally immoral, absolutely wrong when holding a gruesome, bloodied body. "Admit thy imperfections and allow _us_ to have him…instead of acting on thy own accord and disregarding me."

"Us?" Yuuri had whispered at the time in a quivering voice, face blank and a tear streaking down; and Gwendal was certain that Yuuri had gone mad.

"The bright one wedded…us…" The Maou told him, "and has accepted 'two Yuuris' as one…and being 'you' isn't at all times such a horrid thing."

"I make mistakes," the double black admitted in a shaking voice, fighting against Gwendal's attempts to take Wolfram from his arms. The body seemed unmistakably dead.

"Everyone does."

The double black shook his head, more tears in his eyes. "I…know."

The body was growing cold and had stopped bleeding.

"Then learn from this and accept the heart of the one we truly deserve."

In the background, Conrad rasped to Gwendal in a broken voice, "I'll take Yuuri and you take Wolfram."

The double black looked up, a tear falling from his face. "I…accept…"

The green glow from his hands brightened to something blinding as Yuuri's hair grew longer, his shoulders widened, and pupils narrowed into snakelike slits. A laugh came from The Maou—neither malicious nor judgmental, but one of freedom from the sheer weight of being held back for so very long.

"Wolf?" Yuuri sat on the edge of the bed now. He brushed away blond strands of hair from Wolfram's closed eyes. He remembered being both himself and The Maou at the fort—that shocked expression on Gwendal's face, seeing him like that. And then the overwhelming sense of elation from Conrad when Wolfram took his first breath. His godfather placed a hand over his own mouth, totally astounded.

At Fort Krebs, Yuuri sat cross-legged on the slimy, wet floor with Wolfram in his lap. The Maou taught him swift healing techniques and slow ones—when to use them and when not to. Yuuri understood it all without really knowing how he did. It was like a language of energy, mending flesh and bone. He could make out Wolfram's weak heartbeat and managed a way to sync it with his own when he needed to.

"Right now…if I am you…and you are me… What is this that we are?" Yuuri wondered while he concentrated his healing magic and allowed The Maou to guide his hand. The word "dualis" floated to him.

"I…see…" Actually, he did and he didn't. Ancient words and their nuances weren't strengths of his. But it didn't matter, really. Then, he noticed something odd. He narrowed his eyes.

"Wolf's nails are growing. And his hair, too…!" The dirty blond hair continued to grow right before their eyes but stopped at shoulder length. And Yuuri could feel The Maou smiling. "This is a good thing, right?"

"Tis a good thing, little king."

"I'm so glad…so glad…"

"Yuuri?" That was Conrad's voice and the double black looked up, his face showing some irritation for being interrupted. His godfather blanched and then tried to recover his composure. Out of habit, he wasn't expecting to see slitted eyes that were so different and, yet, it would be only natural to do so.

"Yes, Conrad?" The voice was deeper than Yuuri's usual voice—as though puberty had set in suddenly. He had a slight Adam's Apple, too, with somewhat thicker fingers spreading out the green, healing glow.

Not quite Yuuri and not quite The Maou. The right side of the double black's face seemed to favor The Maou and the left was more "Yuuri."

"Everything is safe now. The two who gave themselves up are being moved to the local jail for processing." Yuuri noted matter-of-factly that only two men were mentioned. That meant that the others were dead.

"Concern yourself not with that," The Maou advised.

"And?" Yuuri prodded his godfather in a distracted tone.

Conrad looked around apprehensively, unable to stop himself—still taking in the blood-splattered scene which, nightmarishly, included his godson and his brother, and then he continued, "Right now, Günter is trying to find a room in the village to move Wolfram to. I'll clean him up after you're finished, you know?"

"And send for Gissela," Yuuri stated in a monotone. He moved his hand and the green glow shifted its angle.

"Yes… And, in the meantime, should you need anything, Gwendal, Yozak, and I will be right here."

A hollow "thank you" was what they received and a brief, remorseful glance as Gwendal took the remains of Morgif and, reverently, passed them over to a waiting soldier's arms. Metal against metal sounded like jangling junk.

What followed was over an hour of intense healing with Yuuri speaking as himself one minute and answering out loud as The Maou the next. The double black kept himself and The Maou in that harmonized form and their combined efforts proved beneficial enough to place Wolfram in a stabilized state. And, soon enough, the blond bishonen was sleeping in a rented room at the back of the baker's house. Yuuri, finally himself again, rested in a rocking chair nearby while Conrad took a basin of water and soap and gently cleaned his little brother's face like bathing a newborn.

Wolfram seemed so fragile—as though he would break at the slightest touch. That thought floated in his mind as he drifted off in the rocker.

Yuuri, still sitting on the edge of the oversized bed suddenly realized that emerald green eyes were regarding him with some concern. Wolfram was too tired to mask it and too weak to even care.

"Wolf!"

"Yuuri…" The name was spoken softly.

He focused on the double black's face and then looked around the room with confusion. "How did I get here? How did you get dressed so fast?"

"Eh?" Yuuri said, leaning in and placing a palm against Wolfram's cheek. The blond seemed strangely surprised at the intimate gesture but made no move to bat the double black's hand away.

"What do you mean, Wolf? Get dressed…?"

A frown ghosted his face. "Never mind. I…I need to get out of here." He made a feeble motion—grabbing the blankets and pushing them away—only to uncover the freshly wrapped bandages on his bare chest with some astonishment. "Wait… Why am I like this? What happened?" Green eyes demanded an answer.

Yuuri bit his lip slightly and then asked, "Why were you trying to get up in the first place? Where were you going? If it's the privy, I can help…"

Another slight glower. "Privy…no…" Wolfram twisted his head away. For some reason, his throat had a nagging, burning sensation. But, then, he turned back with a guilty expression coming to him. "I suppose… I should tell you." He put a hand to his head and rustled his long blond locks. "I could make the excuse that you were sleeping so soundly a minute ago that it would be a shame to wake you…but that wouldn't exactly be the truth."

Yuuri didn't follow. "Then, what is the truth, Wolf?" The double black was almost hesitant to ask, but he also knew that he wanted a response to that.

Emerald eyes sought out the side table and noted, with some disquiet, that there had materialized a food tray with clear broth and weak herbal tea, but nothing else. "The letter… There was a letter in green ink…right here a moment ago…" He reached a hand out to search, but Yuuri took it and held on. "Wait…I think I tossed it into the fireplace, Yuuri, but…regardless… I have to go to my art studio before sunset to meet someone." He gave a pathetic attempt at an angry glare for emphasis and went on, "I was standing in front of the closet just now…getting dressed… and…"

"And?" Yuuri asked, holding onto Wolfram's hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"Now, I'm here…covered in bandages…" He met Yuuri's dark eyes and then looked away. "I'm not exactly feeling well, either…but it's nothing I can't handle." Wolfram's face reflected a new kind of resolve. "Still, I need to go. You need to let me go…and handle this…alone."

"You really don't remember anything, do you?" Yuuri asked sincerely, not sure whether he should feel elated or not.

"I don't…" Wolfram tried to take his hand back, but Yuuri held on a little tighter. "Oh, I see… So, did Shinou take over again? Is that why?" His expression seemed to say, "He would have no right, if he did." And it made Wolfram angry—bloody angry. "If he did it again, took my body against my will…I'll…I'll kill him." What did he just say? Kill? Such a ludicrous thing to say in such a weak voice. Then Wolfram almost laughed dryly, which was terribly painful. The free hand went to the blond's bandages. "Or, I would if he wasn't already dead."

"It seems like you don't remember…but there's no point in getting up out of bed. Everything has already happened." The double black tried to busy himself by tucking the covers back and taking Wolfram's hand in his again.

The fire Mazoku gave a disbelieving look. "It has?"

"Yes… You faced him. Actually, we faced him together in your art studio."

Wolfram searched his thoughts but found nothing. A complete blank. "It's over?"

"Your mother caught the person responsible" and, to that, a blond eyebrow arched with interest.

The double black continued, "It was a guy who called himself 'Lin' who snuck into the castle, worked as a gardener, and did a whole lot of magic mumbo-jumbo in order to track us both down."

It seemed so strange to explain it like that.

"Why did he want you dead?" Wolfram asked, his tired head sinking into the silk pillows when he shifted in the bed slightly.

"A diversion…"

"Seriously? That would require a lot of planning just to create what should be a simple distraction." He pursed his lips, taking that information in. "What did he really want?"

Yuuri looked down at his hand. He was holding onto Wolfram's pale one with no sense of embarrassment. It felt fine, natural, for it to be like that. In fact, he liked that feeling very much and he wanted to touch Wolfram more, he realized, and that it wasn't such a scary thing to hold someone dear. The panic, the dread, that had always haunted him when they got too close had disappeared entirely and was replaced by an affectionate pull.

"Yuuri," Wolfram repeated in a whisper, "what did the man really want?"

The double black looked up from his musings, his thin smile faded. "He…uhh… He wanted…."

"What?"

Black eyes met green. "He wanted you."

"Oh…" Recognition was in his expression. Wolfram was fully aware of what "wanted you" meant not to mention the consequences of it. "I see…"

"And, at one point, he had you…" Yuuri motioned to the bandaged wrists and ran a gentle finger along the throat where the rope had latched on first.

"And mother knows this…? And she still has this 'Lin' person…?"

Yuuri thought about it and mumbled "yes" followed by some sort of vague mention of Lady Cheri and Waltorana von Bielefeld legally battling over the rights, as relatives of the royal victim, to try Lin at _their_ castles. At the time, Yuuri didn't care either way as long as there was a judge involved and that Wolfram was safe and sound in Blood Pledge Castle—as far away from Lin as possible.

Wolfram looked over to his hand and said, "You can let go of it now." He wiggled his fingers slightly. Maybe, embarrassing Yuuri would set him back to rights. It was impossible for him to read this "concerned Yuuri" or, rather, it would be all too easy to _misread_ his innocent intentions. But, maybe, in this lifetime, they had the chance to start again from square one.

Reset the game board. Play again.

"Actually, I have something," Yuuri told him while leaning over and opening Wolfram's nightstand drawer.

"Oi! Don't touch my sketchbook," the blond ordered in a stronger voice. He almost sounded normal.

"Don't yell. You're not strong enough," Yuuri scolded, and continued to root around until he found it sitting on the right corner of the sketchbook. "Here it is." Then the double black turned to the bishonen and sought out the ring finger, slipping Wolfram's wedding band back on.

Wolfram blinked in surprise. When had that gone missing?

"I don't think I said the right words on our wedding day," he confessed.

"It wasn't real, Yuuri," Wolfram sighed. "When will you let that go?"

The double black shook his head. "It was real. For me, it was real…" His eyes looked distant for a second, remembering what a fool he was—what a child he was behaving like at the time and, in the process, so thoughtless towards Wolfram's feelings. It was not only a wedding, but a sacrifice in so many ways. He could still smell the burning rose bouquet.

"So, I want you to hear them…hear the words that really matter…"

"Yuuri…don't do this." Wolfram forced a miserable smile. "We can start again…as friends and see if, along the way, you'll accept me." It was okay to lie, wasn't it? Yuuri had been so eager the last time they were together, but he was just giving in or he was curious about what it would be like with a male partner. And it would be okay because they were married to begin with.

Wolfram remembered every kiss, every caress. Feelings of pleasure and pain. Fingers against his skin, exploring. That sense of urgency that was building with each breath. _And then…_ He had to reject Yuuri, in a way, to stop what was about to happen, because he didn't want him to have regrets. Yuuri could be so impulsive at times.

The double black shook his head "no" and Wolfram felt pain again. Yuuri always had a habit of doing that to him.

"My vow to you…the words I should have said… and I'll tell you now what is in here." He took Wolfram's hand and pressed it over his own heart. Wolfram could feel it beating wildly.

"I don't want to marry you as Yuuri…a king with a castle, as The Twenty Seventh Maou of Shin Makoku." He glanced at his formal clothes and drooping, red cape. "I want to marry you as simply 'Yuuri,' someone who has good qualities and bad ones…someone who is strong sometimes and wimpy. I want you, Wolfram von Bielefeld, to be by my side because you are brave and kind, beautiful and loyal…a wonderful father and a fantastic kisser." He flashed a naughty grin, a shadow of The Maou, when he tilted his head to the side. "And let's face it, you're hot."

At that, the blond visibly colored and mumbled, "No marriage vow in Shinou's Temple could contain such words." Scandalous.

But blush he did and Yuuri found himself thrilled at the outcome.

"You are good, Wolfram…a good person…both in heart and soul. The person I want above all others… And, for those reasons, I ask for your hand in marriage and I ask that you remain by my side until we are parted by death."

Wolfram's eyes spoke, "Me? Truly?" and he received a sincere smile, this time, in return. Wolfram thought about it: What would be best for Yuuri, for himself, for them both? He gave a soft, "I accept," the traditional answer of one who was of lower status and then added, "But don't think I'll go easy on you…because I won't, wimp."

He laughed, hearing that. "And then..."

The blond smiled thinly, playing along. It was a little bit fun. "And then…?" What more could he want?

"We live happily ever after."

Wolfram huffed a disbelieving laugh at that. There were no "happily ever afters" in this world and, if there were, he'd certainly never seen one. Only in Earth story books could such an absurd thing be.

But a part of his soul wanted…dearly…with Yuuri… He was ashamed to admit it, though. When would he learn not to believe?

A hand caressed Wolfram's face again, lifting it, and the words "my husband" were whispered intimately. Yuuri leaned in for a loving kiss on the lips to end their private ceremony. Their lips, warm and wet, were sliding against each other and there was a deeply throated hum from Yuuri in pleasure. "Adore you" he murmured into the next kiss, deeper than before. Wolfram could feel their fingers being laced together, strongly binding them, as the double black had intended.

Green eyes widened impossibly when he realized something. Had Yuuri just uttered the word "husband"?

"Believe in this," a deep voice said as the dark haired figure leaned away and Wolfram stared up, eyes wide, as he took in The Maou spirit sitting next to him instead. "Believe in _us_, my dearest one. For, you are loved." And, with that, The Maou gently took Wolfram into his arms—blond hair spilling between his fingers—a soft, erotic kiss passing between them. Wolfram moaned, despite his resolve to hold back. Fingers clinched in the sheets and the blond's body arched upwards on instinct. Moving that way pained him a little, but it was well worth it. Wolfram was left breathless and his face blushed brightly.

"What say you, husband?" Passionate, slitted eyes seemed to devour him. And he was lost in that gaze.

A nuzzle to the side of his neck and teeth grazed his pale skin teasingly. A flick of the tongue when an answer didn't come soon enough.

"I-I accept…I do…" he flustered. "…In whatever form you prefer…" This was his Yuuri, either way.

"Good."

Gingerly, Wolfram was placed back in the bed, against the pillows.

"Then, accept both sides of your humble king and think pleasant thoughts of becoming well," he charmed, tickling Wolfram under the chin, "and imagine our marriage bed together." A devilish smile widened. "For, I…in both forms…intend to hold you all night long….every night…and exhaust you in new, delicious ways."

And Wolfram knew exactly what that meant, too.

He was so incredibly lucky.

At long last, he had Yuuri's heart.

.

.

._._._._._

THE END

._._._._._

.


End file.
